


Ripped at the Seams

by MsWikit



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Tranquil Hawke, deviations from canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsWikit/pseuds/MsWikit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After siding with First Enchanter Orsino in an argument against Knight-Commander Meredith, Marian Hawke is taken to the Gallows as an apostate. When she is returned to her estate, she has been made Tranquil. Fenris refuses to accept that the woman he knew is gone forever. He sets out on a quest to reverse the Rite of Tranquility and finally make things right with Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tranquility

Fenris was not entirely surprised to hear that Hawke had been arrested. Intervening in the argument between Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino was a risky move, even for the beloved Champion of Kirkwall. Supporting Orsino on top of it was even worse. So it was hardly a shock that Meredith had suddenly remembered that Marian Hawke was an apostate. 

The news had shaken their ragtag group of friends. They all rushed to Hawke's estate, which was now completely empty save for her servants. Aveline was not present when he arrived, and Fenris supposed she was attempting to use her position as Captain of the Guard to arrange for Hawke's release. It wouldn't do much good; the guard had no power in matters concerning the Chantry. Everyone else, however, was already there. Merrill was sitting at Hawke's desk, looking anxious and extremely upset. Varric leaned against the fireplace, calming down Merrill when necessary. Anders was threatening to pace a hole in Hawke's floor. Isabela was by far the calmest. She simply stood and staring at the others, with her arms crossed.

“I think you're all being a bit dramatic,” she was saying. “Knowing Hawke, she'll probably rescue herself. By the time we get to the Gallows she'll be walking out with a trail of dead templars behind her.”

“But she's all alone,” Merrill said pitifully. “And there's so many templars...I'd die if I had to be in that place all by myself.”

Varric sighed heavily. “Calm down, Daisy; you're forgetting that Junior's in the Templars. He and Hawke might not see eye to eye, but I don't think he'll let them hurt his sister. Besides, she's one of the most important people in Kirkwall. Every single noble owes her their life; not even Meredith would be crazy enough to piss them off. A bit of public outrage, and she'll be home free.”

“And how long will that take?” Anders demanded severely. “A day? A week? A month? Several months? The longer Hawke stays there, the more danger she's in.”

“Anders is right,” Merrill agreed. “We have to help her, Varric, we have to!”

“We will, Daisy, we will,” he assured her gently. “But running into the Gallows swords swinging isn't the best way to go about this.”

Anders snorted and went back to his pacing. Meanwhile Varric had to once again calm Merrill, and convinced her to go take a brief walk through Hawke's garden to clear her head. Once she was gone, the dwarf sighed heavily and sank into the chair where she had been seated. “Maker, what a mess.”

“Hawke has a way of landing herself in these sorts of situations,” Fenris commented. Anders noticed him for the first time, and took the opportunity to release a bit of anger out on to him.

“Well, look who's finally here,” Anders snapped. “I bet you're happy the Circle got her. Another dangerous apostate off the streets, right?”

Fenris glared at him. It was amazing how Anders could be so completely different from Hawke, though they were both apostates who reviled the Circle. Fenris still maintained that the Circle was a necessity, just not for Hawke. She was not a danger to herself or those around her. He never thought he would ever think that of a mage, but Hawke always seemed to be the exception. 

“I have learned that there are a select few who do not need the Circle,” Fenris said coldly. “Hawke is one of them. She has proven herself to be capable. You on the other hand-”

“Boys, boys,” Isabela said, walking between them. “Ripping each other apart won't help Hawke. Maybe when she gets out of the Gallows you can fight for her amusement. I'm sure it'll make her feel right at home again.”

Fenris saw a faint smirk pass over Varric's face. Irritated, he turned to face the dying fire. Perhaps this would be an eye-opening experience for her. Casting her lot with the mages was a dangerous path. Not only could it lead to blood magic and demons, but it also meant crossing the Templars. Fenris did not think Knight-Commander Meredith was as mad as people claimed, but she certainly was not a woman to be trifled with. He did not think she would do her any harm, though. Hawke was known and loved by many in Kirkwall, and had single-handedly ended the Qunari threat. This was simply a ploy by Meredith to show that she was serious.

All the same, he felt strangely...anxious. 

Knowing that Hawke was locked away where he could not reach her was not a pleasant feeling. He cared for her. Perhaps even loved her. Ever since that night they shared, he'd been unable to look at Hawke without feeling a strange tightness in his chest. She was beautiful and powerful, and he'd walked away from her like a fool. He wanted to make things right, yet he didn't know how. They'd just have to discuss it when she was returned to him. Whenever that would be. 

The door swung open and Aveline marched in, a dark look on her face. 

“I'm guessing you didn't have any luck, big girl?” Isabela asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I didn't, and I told you I wouldn't,” Aveline said, snapping her attention to Varric. “They were perfectly within their rights to arrest her; it's a wonder she hasn't been taken to the Gallows before now. My hands are tied here.”

“Somehow I doubt you spend a lot of time tied up,” Isabela mused. “I think you could use it.”

“Shut up, whore,” Aveline snapped. 

“Then we stir up the nobles,” Varric said, rising from his seat. “We'll need a good amount of gold and maybe a bit of blackmail, but we should have Hawke back in three days tops. Rivaini, Aveline, I'll need you two to help. Blondie, Daisy, and the elf can stay and hold down the fort.”

Fenris turned, frowning at him. “I will not sit and twiddle my thumbs while others orchestrate her release.”

“Look at it this way,” Isabela said, smirking slightly, “you're keeping an eye on a dangerous abomination and a blood mage. We have no idea what Anders and Merrill will do if we leave them to their own devices. Merrill might do something extreme, like pick flowers from Hawke's garden.”

“Very amusing,” Fenris growled. 

Varric chuckled. “You're not the most sociable person in the world. You're good for scaring the shit out of people, not coercing them to help. If we need some muscle, we'll know exactly who to call.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Bodahn went to answer it, while the argument continued between Hawke's fellows. Merrill returned from the garden, calmer now.

“I thought I saw Carver coming up the way,” Merrill said, a relieved smile on her face. “I think he had Hawke with him.”

Fenris looked at her sharply, then glanced towards the entryway. Bodahn's voice was floating in, welcoming someone inside. Moments later he escorted them into the parlor, looking uncomfortable. Carver was the mystery guest, as Merrill had predicted. He was dressed in his templar armor and seemed unable to meet anyone's eyes. Hawke stepped out from behind him. 

At the sight of her, Fenris felt a rush of relief. He had been correct; Meredith was just trying to assert her authority. He started towards her, but froze. There was something...wrong with Hawke. She was staring blankly ahead, completely indifferent to her surroundings. Everyone waited for her to say something. He'd expected her to be happy to return home, or at least say something. But she just continued to stare. Slowly, Fenris walked towards her. Had they done something to her? If they'd hurt her in any way he was going to make them pay, Knight-Commander be damned. 

“Hawke? Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. Her voice betrayed no emotion.

He frowned. “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” she answered. 

“...oh, Maker,” Anders said quietly, his voice full of horror. 

The realization hit Fenris seconds later. He hesitantly reached up, his fingers hovering over Hawke's dark hair. He brushed aside her bangs, revealing a lyrium brand on her forehead. The Mark of the Tranquil. Fenris felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. His mind couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. Hawke did not need to be put in this state. She wasn't dangerous. This was the woman who stood up to demons and shirked away from blood magic...why would she ever need to be made Tranquil? 

“Oh no,” Merrill wailed. “No no no no...”

“Your own sister!” Anders snarled, turning suddenly on Carver. Aveline jumped in between them, as though she could hold back the wrath of Justice with her bare hands. “You let them do this to your own _SISTER_!”

“I didn't know what they were doing!” Carver protested, looking at his sister with a pained expression. “I was called to Meredith's office and- she was already there. And she was already...Meredith told me to escort her home. I didn't even know she was in the Gallows. If I knew- I would have-”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Hawke asked Fenris. Her voice was painfully flat, and she did not look at Carver or Anders. 

His hand moved away, allowing her hair to once again cover her brand. “I...”

“You,” Anders growled, his eyes narrowed at Carver. His voice blended with Justice's, warning them that the spirit was about to make an appearance. “You betrayed your own blood. You gave up your sister like a lamb for slaughter!”

“I didn't know!” Carver insisted. “I would never-”

“Junior, leave!” Varric said, hurrying him out. “He's not going to listen to any templar right now.”

Carver left without protesting. Anders attempted to follow, but Isabela and Aveline blocked his path. After around two minutes, the mage began to calm down. Now in full control of his senses, he sat and stared at Hawke forlornly. 

“This can't be legal,” Aveline said, staring at Hawke in open disgust. “There was no provacation-”

“She defied Meredith,” Anders interrupted bitterly. “That was provacation enough.”

Fenris stood next to Hawke, still staring at her in disbelief. She stared back at him, apparently unmoved by the commotion her appearance had caused. It was so strange to see her so...unemotional. Her bright blue eyes stared at him without showing any feeling at all. 

“Well,” Isabela said, crossing her arms. “What now?”

“We need to put her out of her misery,” Anders answered at once.

Fenris turned on him with a snarl. “Don't you dare touch her.”

“She once said she'd rather die than be Tranquil,” Anders said. “Making her live like this is just...cruel.”

“We can fix her,” Fenris growled, standing in front of Hawke protectively. Though in the back of his mind he questioned whether or not having her Tranquil was better than having her dead. She was alive, but unable to feel. The thought was just as painful, if not more, than imagining her in the grave.

“There is no way to reverse the Rite of Tranquility. Once it's done, it's done. The best thing you could do for her would be to end this nightmare!” Anders snarled. 

“Shouldn't we be asking Hawke what she wants?” Merrill interjected quietly. All eyes went to Hawke. She raised her eyebrows slightly, but her face expressed nothing but vague interest. 

“You would like my opinion on the matter?” she asked, speaking as though she was clarifying an order. When no one answered, she took that as a silent confirmation. “You say that, in my current state, I would find death to be a mercy. This is not so; I find this state to be quite agreeable. I do not wish to die, but there is very little I can do to defend myself if you feel it is best to kill me.”

Maker help them, she didn't sound like Hawke at all. Everyone knew that Tranquil could not feel, but it was quite another thing seeing your closest friend in such a state. It made Fenris's skin crawl. But his point had been proven. Hawke had spoken her mind. She did not want to die. He positioned himself in between her and Anders, narrowing his eyes dangerously. “You heard her. Hawke doesn't want to die.”

Anders said nothing at first. He simply stared at Hawke sadly. Then, shaking his head, he said, “That's not Hawke anymore.” 

With that, he left. The resulting silence was only broken by Merrill's quiet crying.

*

The tension in the streets of Kirkwall was palpable. News of Hawke's fate spread quickly, and the backlash was fierce and immediate. The short walk from Fenris's mansion to Hawke's estate now felt like a long stroll through a battlefield, where a conflict could flare up at any given moment. He glanced around warily as he walked towards Hawke's door. Templars were lurking everywhere, and they were constantly watching for signs of rebellion. 

He knocked on the door. Bodahn opened it and quietly welcomed him into the house, but Fenris paid him no heed. He walked past him to Hawke's library. She was sitting quietly in her chair, reading _The People's Laws of Kirkwall_. Fenris didn't think he'd ever seen her pick that book up before in his life; it was a 'friendly reminder' from Aveline for Hawke to keep herself out of trouble, and she regarded it as little more than a joke. 

“Hawke?” he said. 

She looked up. When she saw him, she smiled. But it was not a typical smile. It wasn't as though she were pleased to see him. She couldn't be. The smile was instead meant to set him at ease and make him feel more comfortable, yet all it did was send a chill up his spine.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “Is there something you need?”

“I...was just checking on you,” he replied. 

“You checked on me yesterday. My condition has not changed.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. 

“I know,” Fenris replied, still caught off guard by her direct manner. He frowned, grumbling under his breath. “Someone has to, though.”

Many of Hawke's companions had begun to avoid her. Anders was nowhere to be found, and hadn't been seen by anyone. Isabela said right out that her friend was gone, and she wouldn't waste time chasing her shadow. Aveline was also absent, though Fenris could hardly blame her; the guards were scrambling to keep order in a city that was quickly falling to pieces. Merrill attempted to visit, but was so disturbed when she was in Hawke's presence that she often have to leave as quickly as she came. The only other person who came regularly and stayed was Varric. He sat with Hawke, unperturbed by her new state, and talked to her. Hawke seemed to appreciate Varric's visits in her own way, and would ask after him if he did not show up promptly at six in the evening. 

“Your concern is misplaced,” Hawke said, closing her book and rising from her seat. “I am content in my present state.”

“You can't even feel contentment!” he snapped, his voice rising without it meaning to. 

“That is true.” Hawke offered no counterargument. “My mind has been freed from the confines of emotion, and I am now able to see things clearly. This, I think, is a fair trade-off.”

Talking to her was useless. Fenris sighed and went to over to the bookshelf. He was trying to find something in Hawke's library that might give him a clue as to how to fix her. She had plenty of books regarding magic and spirits, but he had never so much as glanced at them before. In truth, many of them were far beyond his reading comprehension level; Fenris had only learned to read a few years before. It would take time and practice for these texts to come easily to him.

“You need not do that,” Hawke said, appearing at his side. “I took the liberty of doing your research for you.”

Fenris looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You did? Why?”

“It was only logical,” she replied, shrugging. “I operate on a higher level of reading comprehension than you do, and I read far faster. I looked through all of the books that could have contained useful information.”

“I thought Tranquil never did anything they weren't told to do,” Fenris said with a frown, ignoring her comments about his reading skills; it wasn't as though she was attempting to mock him. She was stating facts.

“That is not entirely true; no one tells me to sleep or to eat, but I do so of my own free will,” Hawke said. “But Varric suggested I take your research into my own hands. I took notes, if you would like to see them.” 

Well, at least she was efficient. Fenris sighed. “Yes, thank you.”

While Fenris sat at Hawke's desk and poured over her notes, Varric arrived for his evening chat with Hawke. She waited for him patiently in the parlor. When he arrived, she walked with him into the library. 

The notes, at least, were well-done. Hawke's handwriting had always been fairly neat, even moreso now that she was Tranquil. How did that effect it, he wondered? Was she simply able to concentrate on her writing more? He sighed, once again focusing on the task at hand. Most of what she'd written were things he already knew: _No one knows how the Rite of Tranquility is carried out, save for the templars and the Tranquil themselves. The Tranquil are forbidden from speaking of it._

But some of it was new to him. He thought Tranquility made a mage immune to demonic possession in addition to curbing their magical abilities. Hawke's notes, however, told a different story: _It is a common misconception that a Tranquil mage is immune to possession. Instead, they are merely unattractive hosts. A demon tempts and possesses mages to experience life and spread their influence in the physical realm; a Tranquil experiences nothing, and thus becomes an object in the mind of the demon._

So Hawke could still become possessed? Interesting, but unhelpful. Fenris began skimming through her notes, looking for something that might be useful in finding her cure. Instead, he found only discouragement. No one had ever attempted to reverse the Rite, and according to one First Enchanter, it was impossible: _Tranquility is, at it's core, caused by a death in the Fade. Death – in the Fade or out of it – cannot be reversed._

“Venhedis,” he swore, casting her notes aside. There had to be a way to fix her, to bring back what was lost. She couldn't stay like this for the rest of her life. He wouldn't stand for it. 

Suddenly light poured in through the window, casting the whole room in an eerie glow. Fenris looked up, only to see beams of blood red light shooting up into the sky. The entire manor began to shake violently. He heard Orana scream in the kitchen as pots and pans clattered to the floor. Cursing, he got up and ran into the library, as though he could protect Hawke if the roof dared to cave in on them. But moments later the shaking passed, leaving the estate in quiet shock.

“Andraste's tits, what was _that_?” Varric said, slowly relinquishing his grip on fireplace mantle. 

“Nothing good,” Fenris growled.


	2. Rough Seas

“Move, move!” Varric shouted.

Fenris grabbed Hawke's arm and pulled her along. She was completely unperturbed by the violence that was ripping the city apart. Had she gotten her way, she would still be at the estate. Orana ran behind them, clutching a small bag containing the few things she'd managed to save for the estate. 

“Most of the ships will already be gone. This course of action is not practical,” Hawke said as a fireball sailed overhead and struck a crate up ahead. Its contents flew in every direction. She watched, apparenly only mildly surprised, as flaming debris flew over their heads. Orana yelped and covered her face, terrified. As soon as it was safe, Fenris shoved both women forward and urged them towards the closest ship. It was rapidly preparing for departure. Glancing down the docks it became obvious that it was one of the few ships that still remained. The others had sailed already, trying to escape Kirkwall before everything fell apart.

“Hey!” Varric shouted up at the crew. “Where is this ship sailing?”

A crew member glanced down. “Ferelden!”

“How much for three passengers?” Varric shouted.

“Unless you've got fifty sovereigns-”

Without warning, Varric pulled a bag of coins out of one of his pockets. He tossed it on to the deck, and for a moment there was silence. The crew member looked back over the edge of the ship. “Welcome aboard!”

“ _Three_ passengers?” Fenris repeated, looking at Varric incredulously. 

“I'm catching a different ship,” Varric said with a shrug. 

“Why?” Fenris demanded, his temper flaring. The prospect of going to a strange land with just a Tranquil and a timid ex-slave did not excite him. What was he supposed to do? Where were they supposed to go? Was this Varric's way of abandoning Hawke?

“I've got business somewhere else,” Varric answered. 

A rope ladder was thrown over the side of the ship. Fenris ignored it and glared at Varric. “And what would you have me do?”

“There's a Circle of Magi in Ferelden,” Varric suggested. “Maybe they can help Hawke.”

Both of their eyes went to their friend. She was looking at the rope ladder contemplatively, as though trying to gauge whether or not it was sturdy. After a moment of consideration she began to climb up. Apparently she'd decided that this ship was the new rational course of action. Did she know that all of this had started because of her? Did she realize what Anders had done in her name? It seemed like everything in this city somehow led back to Marian Hawke. She'd left her mark in a very big way. 

“Mistress, wait!” Orana called. She hesitated at the rope ladder, then began to climb up after Hawke. 

“Go on, elf,” Varric said. Somewhere in the distance there was a scream, followed by an explosion. He shook his head. “Get out of here. And take care of her.”

With that the dwarf rushed off, crossbow raised as though he could take on the entire city with only Bianca at his side. Fenris frowned, then turned and climbed up the ladder. As soon as he was up the crew ushered him below the deck. The ship was obviously a cargo ship; it was carrying crates of cloth and other fine items. No wonder the crew was so eager to get out of the port. When the looting started, this ship would be a prime target. He wondered why they'd waited so long to leave. 

Hawke and Orana were waiting for him below the deck. They were sitting together on a crate, next to a softly glowing lantern. 

“The last time I was on a ship was when my family retreated to Kirkwall during the Blight,” Hawke said, looking about the place. “I did not care for it then.”

“And now?” Orana asked, perhaps hoping to coax some sort of emotion out of her employer.

“I am content,” Hawke said. 

Maker, he was beginning to hate that word. Content. That was all she ever felt. Even after running through the streets of Kirkwall while mages and templars waged a bitter war, after watching her home fall apart in front of her eyes, after being forced to leave behind family and friends, she was still just _content_. 

Fenris sat down away from the two girls, not wanting to look at either of them. What a mess. The city would be in ruins before it was all over. The Chantry had been destroyed by an apostate, apparently as revenge for Hawke. That mage was none other than their very own Anders. Fenris had known the abomination would do something like this eventually; it was only a matter of time. Yet Hawke had always insisted on trusting him. They were what drove Meredith to such extremes. If it weren't for Anders and mages like him, Hawke would still be herself. 

He thought about all those they left behind in the city. Hawke's uncle and cousin were still in Lowtown, as far as he knew. But she hadn't even mentioned them. Isabela had probably already stolen a ship from the docks, seeing an opportunity to take advantage of the chaos. Aveline would be with Donnic, desperately trying to protect innocents and keep order. He supposed Merrill was out with the rest of the damned blood mages, raising demons in Hawke's name. Meanwhile Hawke's brother Carver would be busy cutting down said mages. 

_What company she kept_ , he thought. 

“Are you hungry?” Orana asked suddenly, disturbing his thoughts. She seated herself beside him, offering a piece of bread. “I grabbed a little from the kitchen before we had to go.”

Fenris sighed, then accepted the offering with a small nod of thanks. 

“...I miss how Mistress used to be,” Orana admitted after a few moments of silence. She glanced over at Hawke, who was quietly milling through the crates and inspecting them. “She was so funny and nice. And she paid me so well...I didn't know what to do with all the coin she gave me.” 

“We'll fix her,” he said gruffly. 

“I hope so...” Orana looked down at the bag in her lap. “I got a few of her things before we left...I thought she might want them. But she said it's all useless, and we should sell it.”

Leave it to Orana to think of sentimentality when all of Kirkwall was falling apart. How had she managed to retain such a sweet spirit, despite all she had been through? She was a slave, just as he had been. Yet Orana perceived everyone and everything to be worthy of her kindness. Slavery had left her meek and naive, not vengeful and angry. Some part of him envied her for that. His expression softened slightly as he looked at her. “Hawke isn't herself. When we fix her, she'll appreciate what you did.”

“I hope so,” Orana said. She glanced at the bag, then offered it to him. “Would you like it? I know Mistress is special to you. You can keep it safe until she's better.”

'Special to him.' That was the understatement of the age. Fenris accepted the bag without a word. Orana seemed to sense the sudden shift in his mood, and got up to go see what Hawke was up to. He watched her go with a slight sigh. How someone who had lived with Hadriana all her life could end up that compassionate was beyond him. The woman had been a terror to Fenris. But perhaps Orana was simply not worthy of her time. He had been special; he was Danarius's pet, his experiment. Perhaps that warranted the extra attention she had given him. 

He frowned, looking at the lyrium markings on his arms. The idea of seeking the help of mages, even Circle mages, did not appeal to him. Hawke was the only mage he had ever trusted, and look at where magic had landed her. 

But for now, at least, the Circle was their only hope.

*

The crew provided a couple of spare bedrolls for them, as well as a bit of food. They expected their journey to be a short one, lasting only two weeks. About a week into the journey, Fenris decided to look into the bag of things Orana had recovered from the estate. It was possible she might have grabbed something useful, and they would need it once they docked. They'd left Kirkwall with virtually nothing. 

The first thing he found in the bag was a handmade doll. It was obviously several years old, and showed signs of wear and tear. Where had Hawke been keeping this, he wondered? He tried to imagine Hawke as a little girl, sitting at her mother's feet and playing with dolls. The image refused to take form. The first time he'd seen her she was surrounded by the bodies of dead slave hunters without so much as a scratch on her. It was difficult to see Hawke as anything but the powerful apostate she was. 

He set the doll aside, deciding to keep it. If Hawke had held on to it through the Blight and everything else, it must be important to her. Far be it from him to throw away a piece of her past. 

The next thing the bag produced was a necklace. He'd never seen Hawke wear it. Then again, she wasn't typically fond of jewelry. Perhaps it belonged to Leandra? Or perhaps Orana simply grabbed it because it looked valuable? Fenris decided he would ask Hawke about its significance later. If it had none, he would sell it. They could use the coin once they reached Ferelden. He set it beside the doll, then reached back into the bag. This time he produced Hawke's journal. 

Fenris had only been in Hawke's bedroom once, and he hadn't been very interested in his surroundings at the time. But he knew she kept a journal. It was extremely full; she'd been writing in it since before coming to Kirkwall. Had she continued writing after being made Tranquil, he wondered? It seemed doubtful; all she did when he visited her was wander through the house aimlessly. Unless Hawke was told to do something, she did nothing.

He glanced over at her. She was lying on her bedroll, but he doubted she was sleeping. Ever since they left the docks, Hawke had been seasick. She did not complain about it, or even mention it. The only way Fenris knew was that every three hours or so she'd calmly walk up to the deck and vomit over the side of the ship. If she was miserable, she must not have been capable of showing it.

Would she be angry if he read this? Fenris glanced down at the journal in his hands. He didn't know what he expected to find within. But it was the last piece he had of Hawke. The real Hawke, anyway. It seemed like it had been years since he'd properly spoken with her, though everything had gone downhill in just a few short weeks. He remembered how she used to smirk during Wicked Grace because she finally had a good hand. (That was how he knew when to fold.) He remembered the way she joked with Varric, the way she sighed when she was irritated, the way her eyes burned when she was about to lose her temper. 

Fenris wanted that back, at least in some form. He wanted _her_ back. It was wrong. But...he would apologize to her. When she was better. 

He opened the journal. The first entry dated back seven years before, before Hawke and her family had even left their village of Lothering. Her handwriting, pretty and fairly neat, was comforting in a way. He remembered watching her write things for him to copy down. Their reading and writing lessons were among some of his favorite memories. Yet for some reason he'd never told her so. There were a lot of things he never told her. 

_Drakonis 4th, 9:30 Dragon_

_Finally, a new journal! Not being able to write down my thoughts has been driving me mad. So much has happened since that damn stray chewed up my last journal...it's good to finally be able to put everything to paper. Maker knows I'm liable to forget things if I don't get them in writing._

_I suppose the most important thing that's happened is that I let Carver go to Ostagar. The darkspawn have made an appearance to the south, though from what everyone is saying it isn't a true Blight. This should be the battle that drive them back into the Deep Roads, and Carver wanted to be a part of it. He was so insistent that I just couldn't say no. Mother was completely against it, of course, and still is. She's barely spoken a word to me since he left. She thinks something awful will happen to him, but I know my brother. Carver's a tough one, and I know he's eager to make something of himself. Maybe after the battle he'll join Cailain's army; he'd do well as a soldier, I think._

It was interesting reading what Hawke had written all those years ago. Apparently the rift between her and Carver hadn't always been so wide. By the time Fenris met them the only thing they did was fight. When she'd written this, she had no idea how distant she and her brother would become. It made Fenris feel sorry for Hawke; she'd lost so much over the years. Fenris frowned and read on. 

_Bethany still wishes we could have gone with Carver, but the only weapon either of us have is our magic. There will be Circle mages at Ostagar, and where there are mages there are templars. And that's a risk we just can't take. Huh...I really am starting to sound like Father! Risks this, templars that...it's hard to believe it's been three years since he passed away. I wish he were still here; maybe he could convince Mother to stop giving me the cold shoulder!_

The entry ended there. The next one was dated almost two weeks later. Fenris guessed fleeing the Blight didn't leave much time for journaling.

_Drakonis 16th, 9:30 Dragon_

_Just when I begin to think it can't get any worse, it gets worse._

_The battle at Ostagar was a failure, a tremendous one. We waited and waited for Carver to come home. It might have been wiser to just leave, but I couldn't. Not if there was a chance that Carver would come back. Then, right when we decided we couldn't wait any longer, he comes sprinting up the road with darkspawn on his heels. I looked back at the house before we went over the hill. When we go back – if we go back – it probably won't be there anymore. In that moment I thought nothing could be worse. We were leaving behind everything._

_Maker's breath, it still isn't any easier to think about. It'd be better if Bethany were here...I miss her. I miss her so much. It all happened so fast. I just remember seeing the ogre reach down and then blood was everywhere. Mother's blaming me. I'm pretty sure Carver is, too. Maybe it really IS my fault. Maybe there was something I could have done, or should have done. Maybe it should have been me. I know she'd hate to hear me say that...it just feels so wrong to not have her here. She and I were always so close. We told each other everything...Maker, I miss her. It'd be easier to bear losing her if Mother didn't look at me like I was the one who killed her. All Carver does is snap at me. I feel like an outcast in my own family._

_We picked up a woman on our journey to Gwaren; she's named Aveline. Strong woman, and decent as far as I can tell. But she's not exactly up for any conversation either. She lost her husband. None of us made it out of Ferelden without losing someone, I guess. The other refugees keep asking how we made it out of Lothering, and I have to say it was luck. Otherwise everyone would think we were mad._

_The story still doesn't even make sense in my mind. I would think I dreamed it if not for the amulet. Part of me wants to forget about it, but I'm also afraid of what will happen if I do. The last thing I need is to anger the great Witch of the Wilds...wouldn't it be grand to lose my home, sister, AND get turned into a toad on top of it all?_

_I can't wait to get off this damn boat...I haven't been able to keep anything on my stomach since the ship left Gwaren. Hopefully mother's brother will be able to take us in. If he can't, Maker help us._

“Are you reading my old journal?”

Fenris jumped slightly, startled. He looked up to see Hawke standing in front of him. Part of him still expected her gaze to be accusatory, but she was just staring blankly. “I...yes. I apologize. I was...”

“There is no need to apologize,” Hawke said, sitting down beside him. “Read all you like; it does not matter to me.”

“It doesn't?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he felt stupid. Of course it didn't. Nothing mattered to her anymore.

“No. Read if you wish. Though I think it would be better to sell it. People would pay good coin for the Champion's memoirs, coin that we will need when we reach Ferelden,” Hawke said. She was right, of course. It was the practical course of action to take. But the idea of parting with this, the last thing he had to remember the old Hawke by...it would be almost as painful as losing her again. 

“I was thinking we could sell this,” Fenris reached over and grabbed the necklace. It was beautiful, and vaguely antique looking. It was made of gold, with red gem stones embedded in it. At the very front was a large diamond. It must have been worth a hundred sovereigns, maybe more. “Unless you want to keep it.”

Hawke took the necklace from him and looked it over. “This belonged to my mother. She took it with her to Ferelden; she wore it on her wedding day. She intended for me to wear it on mine, once she'd made a proper match.”

Fenris frowned. “Your mother was attempting to...arrange a marriage for you?”

“Of course,” Hawke answered, as though the answer were obvious. “I was a young unmarried noble woman, and considered conventionally attractive. But not many were willing to take my mother up on her offer. The Amells' return had stunned the nobles, and despite my ancestry people still considered me to be 'new money'. It was only after I became the Champion did people begin to make marriage offers.”

This was news to him. People had...proposed to her? She'd never said a word about it. He'd never even seen any suitors around her manor. “You turned them down, I take it?”

“Yes. I was still in love with you,” she said. 

The words felt like a dagger to the ribs. Of course, he'd known there were...unresolved feelings between the two of them. But to hear her say it so bluntly, so suddenly...it took him by surprise. It shouldn't have, but it did. “I-”

“In hindsight, it would have been more appropriate to simply accept one of the offers,” Hawke continued, apparently not noticing (Or, more likely, not caring) his reaction. “Even if you felt the same way, there would have been little future for us as a pair. But that is in the past. There is very little use in dwelling on old mistakes.” 

She handed the necklace back to him. “Sell it if you wish; it is a valuable heirloom. Saying it came from the Amells will most likely increase its value, given you find the right buyer. Now, if you'll excuse me. I am beginning to feel ill again.”

With that Hawke got up and calmly walked up to the deck, leaving Fenris to contemplate what she'd said.


	3. Unhappy Trails

_Cloudreach 4th, 9:30 Dragon_

_I got my first glimpse of Kirkwall just a few moments ago. I went up top during my usual early morning bout of sea sickness. After all this time on this damned boat, I thought seeing it would be a relief. But it wasn't. The sky was cloudy, and through the fog the first thing I saw was a giant statue of a slave in agony. Then another, then another._

_When we settled in Lothering, I knew right away it was going to be home. It was so beautiful, so quiet, so welcoming. Kirkwall is anything but. I can't imagine making a life here._

-

Fenris leaned against the railing. Highever slid into view as the sun began to slide high in the sky. The city was settled on white coastal cliffs. Atop the highest one stood a fortress with blue banners unfurled along its sides, bearing some sort of family heraldry. Due to the bluffs he had to look up to see the city, and even then he could only see the buildings that were perched closest to the edge. The view from those homes must have been beautiful. Though it was unlikely the location for the city had been chosen based on the scenery; it was practically impenetrable from the sea.

There was an alcove in the cliffs where the ships docked. As the crew brought the ship into port, Fenris went below the deck to retrieve Hawke and Orana. The latter of the two was bustling around, gathering their things and carefully stowing them away. Hawke stood by and watched her.

“Please allow me to do that, Orana,” Hawke said. 

“No, Mistress, it's alright,” Orana assured her. 

“We're about to dock,” Fenris told them. Or rather, told Orana. He didn't look at Hawke. He didn't want to. 

Orana smiled, looking to her mistress. “We're in Ferelden, Mistress. Aren't you happy?”

“It will be pleasant to get off this boat,” Hawke replied. She looked towards Fenris and smiled. It made Fenris's stomach turn. “What is our next destination?”

“The Circle of Magi,” Fenris answered. 

The smile did not leave her face. “You are still attempting to cure my current state, then. It is not practical to pursue that course of action; Tranquility cannot be reversed. It would be far better to use our resources to-”

“We're going to the Circle!” he snapped. He raised his voice, and Orana jumped. Hawke did not so much as blink. 

“Very well,” she said. 

Fenris snarled and stormed back up the stairs, unable to stay in her presence any longer. The crew was bustling around the deck, shouting orders and lowering the sails. He weaved in between them and walked to the bow of the ship. They were slowly moving into the dock. Two men on the side threw a couple of thick ropes down to two men waiting on the dock. 

“ _Very well_ ,” he spat, glaring at nothing in particular. Maker help him, he wasn't sure how much of this he could take. The longer he spent in Hawke's company, the more uncomfortable he felt. It was becoming difficult to remember the woman she had been. Her journal was his only comfort. When he read it, he could hear her voice. Fenris could see her smile, hear her laughter, feel her happiness, her concern, her fear, her anger. It gave him hope that one day soon she would be like that again. 

Hope that was difficult to hold on to when he was actually around her. 

“...it's not her fault,” said a quiet voice behind him.

Fenris turned around to see Orana standing there. Her eyes were turned downward. In her hands was the bag of things she'd managed to recover from the estate. Speaking out like this was unlike her, but perhaps after spending a few years with Hawke she'd learned to let her voice be heard. 

“It's hard...but...Mistress will be better soon, won't she?” Orana continued, glancing up to meet his eyes. “You said we were going to fix this.”

“We are,” Fenris assured her. He looked up at the cliffs that rose high around them on almost all sides. “No matter what it takes.”

*

“I'll give you seventy-five sovereigns for it,” the shopkeeper said, examining the necklace with a critical eye. 

“It's worth double that, and you know it,” Fenris growled. 

“It's in bad condition,” she countered, setting it down on the counter. 

“It just needs polishing,” he said. 

The woman looked at him, then at the necklace, then back to him. She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands across her lap. “I'll give you ninety.”

“A hundred,” Fenris persisted. 

“Ninety, take it or leave it,” she said. For a moment they simply glared at each other, each trying to determine how far they could push the other. But Fenris knew he would have to blink first. They had brought only a small amount of money with them. There hadn't been time to think about such things after the Chantry's destruction. They needed this coin, and they needed it badly. 

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” the shopkeeper said, smiling pleasantly. She set the necklace aside, then began to count out his payment. The gold coins were slid across the counter and into his waiting hands. “Have a nice day.”

Fenris didn't reply. He simply slipped the sovereigns into his coin purse and walked out of the shop. Hawke and Orana stood outside waiting for him. Orana seemed nervous; as a slave, she had not been allowed outside very often. Even while living with Hawke she seemed to avoid leaving the estate. Being in the middle of a large, strange marketplace must have been stressful for her. Hawke, however, was unperturbed. She watched quietly as the citizens of Highever carried out their daily business. Children ran through the streets, dogs begged for scraps, vendors hawked their wares in loud, Ferelden accents. 

He didn't say a word to either of them, but they followed him without question. Orana walked close to Hawke, seeking some sort of comfort in her mistress. 

They spent the afternoon buying supplies for their journey. Food, waterskins, clothes better fitted for Ferelden's cooler climate, and a map of the country. Once their supplies were gathered, Fenris sat down to plan their route.

“Highever is...” His eyes scanned the map. Shit. How did you spell Highever? Out of instinct, he mouthed the word slowly. Highever. H. I. Or maybe Y? Sometimes Y sounded like- 

“There,” Hawke said, pointing to a dot towards the north of the map. “Here is Highever.”

Highever. H-I-G-H-E-V-E-R. He'd been right about the first two letters at the very least. All the same, he was irritated at Hawke's intervention. Before being made Tranquil, she would always let him work it out for himself. She'd only helped him when he specifically asked. Even then she would still encourage him to try it on his own. 

“I know where it is,” he snapped. 

Hawke nodded once and sat back down next to Orana.

Highever was in the far north. The Imperial Highway ran several miles south of them, but went right past the Circle Tower. Their destination was helpfully illustrated directly beside a large lake, though Fenris knew all too well what the word 'Circle' looked like. He'd seen it written on Anders's manifesto (which always seemed to find its way into Hawke's bookshelves), on the Chantry message board, even painted across a wall during the tenser periods in Kirkwall. 

“...how long will it take us to get to the Circle?” Fenris asked, looking up at Hawke. He turned the map towards her. 

Without so much as squinting at the map to get a better look, she replied, “At a steady pace on the Imperial Highway, we should be there in a little over a week.”

“Is the Imperial Highway safe?” Fenris asked, turning the map back around. 

“It is highly trafficked from what I recall,” Hawke replied. “There are many merchants and there are many bandits. But also many soldiers; letters from Ferelden said that King Alistair was working to improve safety across the country. There were still darkspawn left over from the Blight, as well as people attempting to profit from the chaos. Highway patrols were a necessity.”

Fenris scowled. “Is it safe or not?”

“Moderately,” Hawke answered. 

Fantastic. Perhaps that was still better than Kirkwall; it seemed as though you couldn't walk three steps without stumbling over a group of bandits or Tal-Vashoth. Though when they lived in Kirkwall, Hawke had been a powerful mage with the ability to summon a storm of fire at will. Now she wouldn't so much as lift a finger to protect herself. As for Orana...he would attempt to show her how to use a dagger, but he doubted that she could defend herself when it came down to it. She wouldn't hurt anyone. Not even someone hellbent on murdering and looting her. 

“It's our best chance,” Fenris said. He stuffed the map into his bag, not bothering to fold it. 

“We have the coin for mounts,” Hawke suggested. “That will shorten the journey.”

Fenris frowned. “We don't know how long this coin has to last us. We'll walk it.”

“Very well,” Hawke said. 

*

A week later, Fenris sat down beside their camp fire and stared out at Lake Calenhad. They'd made camp on high ground, and the lake stretched out below them. In the far distance he could see the Circle tower standing on a small isle in the middle of the lake. A smart position. Putting the tower in the middle of the water made it easy to defend and difficult to escape. Perhaps that was what Kirkwall should have done. Isolated the mages completely-

Suddenly he was struck by the image of Hawke standing on that isle, only to run towards the water in a desperate attempt to escape. She would have rather drowned than live there. And he knew it.

Fenris shuddered and glanced towards her. She was sitting next to Orana. He watched as she offered her servant her fur-lined cloak. Orana was not used to the cooler climate (neither was Fenris, in complete honesty) but Hawke seemed perfectly at home. He thought being away from Ferelden for so long might make her less resistant to the chill, but perhaps not. Or perhaps she no longer cared about things such as hot and cold. As Hawke wrapped her cloak around Orana, she glanced up. Their eyes met, and Fenris felt the bile rise up in his throat. 

He looked away, staring at the lake with all his might.

_Tomorrow, we'll fix this_ , he thought. The Circle had to help them. They had to. If they did not...what else was there to be done? Was he to spend the remaining years of his life staring into those beautiful blue eyes, knowing that he would never again see the love in them? 

“You are troubled,” Hawke said. She moved away from Orana and sat at his side. 

He glared at her. “How would you know?”

“Just because I do not feel does not mean I do not recognize emotion in others,” Hawke replied, tucking her legs underneath her. “You are troubled; I wish to know why.” 

“I'm fine,” Fenris snapped.

“You are an awful liar.” Hawke raised her eyebrows slightly. It was amazing how unmoved she managed to look even with her eyebrows raised and a placid smile on her face. She did not look playful or friendly. She looked dead. 

Fenris felt the bile rise in his throat. “What troubles me will be resolved tomorrow.”

“Doubtful,” Hawke said. “There is no known cure for Tranquility. And, if there was one, they would be highly unlikely to provide it in this case. I indirectly inspired a mage rebellion in Kirkwall. Word must have reached the Ferelden Circle by now. They will be unwilling help a martyr of the mages. It might encourage further rebellion.” 

“If they won't help us, we'll find someone else who will,” Fenris snapped. 

For a moment, Hawke was silent. She stared at the tower. “It would be far better if I remained at the tower.”

“What?” Fenris turned on her, incredulous.

“Tranquil are not welcome among the public. We unnerve them,” Hawke said. “I would be more useful with the Circle, where I would be welcomed.”

“No,” Fenris said firmly. Every time he looked at Hawke he felt nothing but revulsion. But he still wasn't willing to let her go. Not while there was a chance for her to be healed. “We're going to fix this, Hawke.”

Hawke seemed to a sigh a bit. But it didn't look like an actual expression of exasperation or irritation. It seemed more like an imitation. There was no hint of agitation on her face, in her eyes, or in her voice. She was simply going through the movements to make him feel more comfortable around her. But it had the opposite effect. It made him feel sick. She looked back at the tower and said, “You are still unwilling to accept my new state.”

“I'll never accept it,” he said. 

“Very well.”


	4. Hatred

_Cloudreach 6th, 9:30 Dragon_

_We arrived in Kirkwall two days ago, and Gamlen still hasn't come to get us. The longer we stay in the Gallows, the more nervous I get. There are templars all over. I feel like we escaped the lion's claws but ran right into the dragon's den. Carver and Mother are speaking to me again, at least. They're both worried I'll be dragged off as an apostate. And to be honest? I am too. I thought the Order in Ferelden was bad; they're nothing compared to Kirkwall! I'd die before I joined the Circle here._

_No wonder Father fled this place. It's a nightmare for mages._

-

All was quiet when they pushed off from the Lake Calenhad docks. The ferryman, Kester, was an amiable man. He'd been talking since they approached him seeking passage to the Circle Tower. He chattered on about this and that, even claiming to have met the Hero of Ferelden once. Hawke listened to him with a placid smile, though she seemed to unnerve him. Not many people saw Tranquil; in truth, Fenris had never seen one until arriving in Kirkwall. Tranquility was very rarely used in Tevinter. It was considered a fate worse than death, and only used when extreme atrocities had been committed. 

Sometimes, looking at Hawke, he wondered if the Tevinter magisters might have actually been right about one thing.

He got out of the boat first when they docked, then offered his hand to help Hawke. Before she was made Tranquil, the magic in her blood would react with the lyrium in his skin. Each time she touched him it was like a burst of lightning coursing along his markings. It was surprisingly not painful; in fact, he'd found himself craving the sensation. Her soft hands always managed to turn constant pain into pleasure. 

Now, he felt nothing. 

Hawke stepped up, still smiling, and stared up at the white tower. Fenris looked down at his hand. It occurred to him suddenly that if she was not cured here, it was very likely he would never feel that thrilling spark again. He glanced up as Kester began to row back to the mainland, disappearing into the early morning fog. Fenris stood alone on the island with no one but Hawke beside him. (Orana had elected to remain behind at the inn, the Spoiled Princess. He didn't blame her for wanting the rest; they'd been sleeping in cold tents for a week.) 

A single templar stood guard outside the doors. Fenris approached him, careful to keep Hawke partially hidden behind him. He didn't know what the templars would do if the recognized her. 

“State your business,” the templar said gruffly.

“I need to speak with the First Enchanter,” Fenris said.

The templar raised an eyebrow. “And who exactly are you? Not often we get pointy-ears coming up demanding to see the First Enchanter. Not since the Hero, anyway.”

Damn it. Usually Varric handled this sort of thing; he could make anyone believe almost anything. Unfortunately, Fenris wasn't blessed with the dwarf's gift of bullshit. But he had to think of something. Anything-

“His markings are magical in origin,” Hawke said. The templar looked to her. “They were forced upon him by a Tevinter magister. They are made from pure lyrium and, while they give him unique abilities, are very painful. He wishes them gone.”

Fenris looked at her in shock, but the templar's attention was now on him. He grabbed his arm to examine some of the markings. Fenris jerked away, resenting being appraised like cattle. His arm glowed faintly on instinct, and he balled his hand into a fist. The templar regarded his faintly glowing markings with apparent amusement. He said, “And what sort of 'unique abilities' do these markings give you?”

“The ability to rip a man's still-beating heart out of his chest,” Hawke chimed in flatly.

The templar looked startled. Fenris bet that if he had known that, the idiot would have thought twice about manhandling him. He took a half step away from Fenris. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Fenris said slowly, looking at Hawke. “It is true.”

The templar seemed to consider them for a moment, then turned towards the door. “Come with me; I'll take you to the senior enchanters.”

He opened the doors and led them inside. Fenris hung back and glanced at Hawke. “The Tranquil can lie?”

“Nothing I said was a falsehood,” Hawke replied. With that, she walked inside.

*

Fenris had never been inside any sort of Circle before. The tower was extremely old he thought, perhaps Tevinter made. It was still early, and very few people seemed to be awake. He saw glimpses of Tranquil opening windows and drawing back curtains. He saw them cleaning, stoking fires, dusting, folding, washing. It seemed that they were the Circle's own personal army of servants.

 _They look like slaves_ , Fenris thought. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. How many times had he seen other elves performing these very same tasks in Danarius's estate? Did the Circle pay the Tranquil? Watching them reminded him of Hawke's little deception. Were these people capable of the same? Were they capable of going against the Circle?

The templar led them into a library where various mages were working. They looked at the templar warily when he entered. Some of them grabbed their books and slipped out of the library, while others simply picked up their work and moved to the opposite end of it. One of the mages was working at a desk, writing something down. When the templar approached her, she stared up at him with slight exasperation. She looked slightly familiar to Fenris; her long dark hair was pulled into a single braid that ended halfway down her back. Her skin was light brown, and she had dark brown eyes that reminded Fenris of a Mabari warhound.

“Yes?” she said, looking at the templar.

“These two showed up at the door,” the templar said. He gestured to Fenris. “His markings are made of pure lyrium.”

The mage's eyes widened slightly. She looked towards him with renewed interest. “Is that true?”

Fenris nodded. “I was the slave of a Tevinter magister.”

The mage nodded once. She walked around him, scrutinizing him. “These markings match the descriptions of the ancient lyrium warriors...your master must have been attempting to rediscover the lost art. Though some things are lost to history for a reason, I think.”

Her attention turned towards the templar. “You may go.” 

His eyes narrowed. “I'm not sure if the captain would like for me to leave these two unattended-”

The mage glared at him. “Irving left me in charge of the Circle. I'm no blood mage, Cyrille. Now go back to your post before I give you a _real_ reason to be afraid of me.” 

The templar hesitated, then sneered and walked out. The mage let out an irritated sigh and sank back into her seat. “Damned Kirkwall mages...as if life wasn't difficult enough for us. Then they have to go and blow up the Chantry and start a rebellion. They'll put us all to the sword for that, mark my words. They're quick to throw people to the wolves.”

“What happened in Kirkwall was a monstrosity,” Fenris said, frowning. “You can hardly blame the templars for being suspicious. Especially since you seem to be in the habit of making threats.”

“Cyrille knows I'm full of shit,” the mage replied. “But where are my manners? I'm Solana. Solana Amell. And you are?”

Amell. Fenris looked sharply at Hawke. Now he understood why Solana looked familiar; she and Hawke looked similar. Her skin was lighter than Solana's, and her eyes were bright blue instead of dark brown. But there was a resemblance there. He looked back to Solana. “I am Fenris. This is- er- Leandra. She was also a slave. We...escaped together.”

Solana looked at Hawke skeptically. “Was she Tranquil then?”

“No,” Fenris lied. “I think he intended to make her his apprentice but...she refused to do blood magic.”

“A Tevinter magister knows the Rite of Tranquility?” Solana said, frowning. For a moment she seemed to doubt him. Then she looked back at her books, flipping through the pages. “Well, Fenris, your former master knew his history. Long ago it was said that in ancient Elvhenan, the elves created 'lyrium warriors' out of willing volunteers. These tattoos were intricate and gave the user unique abilities...though they were incredibly painful.”

Fenris frowned, looking at his arm. That was an understatement. He had learned to live with the pain. But some of his earliest memories were of writhing on the ground in agony, screaming to be killed. 

“At least, so the legends go,” Solana continued. “Not much is known about them; and the Dalish aren't exactly keen on sharing whatever information they've found. The tales say that only the finest warriors could be given these markings, and the ritual was secret to all but them and their patrons. How your former master figured that out is beyond me...if you would like, I could try to find a way to get rid of them. The ancient warriors got their markings willingly but I doubt you were given the same luxury.”

Fenris nodded. “I...yes. I would like that. I was also hoping you could help my friend.”

“How?” Solana asked, looking at Hawke.

This was it. “I want you to reverse her Tranquility. Make her as she once was.” 

Solana's eyes darted between them. Slowly, she got to her feet. After glancing around, the mage lowered her voice. “The templars would have me tell you there is no cure. But that is a lie.”

“What is this cure?” Fenris demanded. Whatever he had to do to fix Hawke, he'd do it. All he wanted was to get her back. To make things right.

“No one knows,” Solana admitted. “The message didn't say what it was, just that it existed. I'd imagine that Wynne knows what it is. She sent word to all the Circles.”

“Wynne?” Fenris furrowed his brow. Varric was fond of stories, especially those involving the Warden and her travels. The dwarf often claimed it was the perfect story. So, of course, he recited it as many times as possible with several well-placed 'embellishments'. “ _The_ Wynne?”

“The very same,” Solana said. “She knows; she should be in Val Royeaux.” 

Val Royeaux. All the way in Orlais. It seems their travels weren't over just yet. “Perhaps she can help us, then.”

Solana glanced around again. She lowered her voice and whispered to him, “Val Royeaux won't be in one piece when you get there. The Grand Enchanter is going to propose a vote to make the Circle independent; there will be blood. Not to mention Orlais is in the midst of a civil war.”

Was the entire world falling apart? It seemed that nothing had gone right since Hawke was made Tranquil. Everything had been thrown off balance. Fenris thought that somehow he could fix all of their problems by curing her, but this went far beyond the two of them. This was a conflict that would ignite all of Thedas. Hawke was the spark and all of the world was about to be lit up in flames. Suddenly Fenris questioned whether it would be a good idea to stay here any longer, even for just the night. Who knew what these mages would do?

“So, tell me...” Solana said, her eyes flickering towards Hawke. “Is that really her?”

“Really who?” Fenris stepped in front of her instinctively, hiding her from Solana's view. 

“My cousin.” The mage offered a bittersweet smirk. “An Amell finally makes something of herself, and then what do they do? Strip her of everything. Land, title, magic, emotion...do you know that I have a brother and a sister and I've never met either of them? Do you know that my sister was at the Nevarran Circle when they performed the Rite of Annulment?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes, holding his ground. “I will not let you touch her.”

The fire in Solana's eyes seemed to dim a bit. She looked past him at her cousin, a mournful look on her face. “I was four when they took me from my parents. I was a good mage. I didn't ever rock the boat. I said my daily prayers. I practiced my spells. I listened to my mentors. I passed my Harrowing in record time. When my friend wanted to escape, I _turned him in_. And even then Irving had to beg the Knight-Commander to keep him from making me Tranquil.”

Solana turned away. “But I held true. I watched the only family I had ever known crumble to pieces, and fought back against the blood mages and abominations when they overran the Tower. I battled the Archdemon. I returned to the Circle quietly, without so much as a word of thanks. I've always been good, obedient. But do you think I've ever been allowed to see my parents? To write to my siblings? I'm a damned Senior Enchanter, and still they keep me penned. Now they slaughter my sister, destroy my cousin...would you bear it, if you were me?”

“You think they are wrong to fear you?” Fenris growled.

“Do you think she was afraid?” Solana said quietly, glancing at him over her shoulder. “When she saw the brand, I mean. When she realized what they were going to do.”

“I was,” Hawke admitted freely. “But I know no fear now. I see life with clarity.”

It felt like a punch in the gut. Fenris had never known Hawke to be scared. Things that would make hardened soldiers flee in terror made her roll her eyes in annoyance. But yet he could see her in his mind, struggling, eyes wide like an animal caught in a trap. 

Solana laughed bitterly. “Did you beg?”

“Yes,” Hawke answered.

“Did you cry?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask to be killed instead?”

“Repeatedly.”

“ _ENOUGH_!” Fenris shouted, stepping away from both of them. His hands were curled into fists. He was shaking and he didn't understand why. Both of the women stared at him, their eyes equally lacking in emotion. 

“You think we are wrong to hate them?” Solana asked, her voice calm. 

Without a word, Fenris grabbed Hawke's arm and stormed out of the library. They rushed down the stairs, out the doors, and stood on the bank. Fenris knelt down, gritting his teeth. Damn her. Damn both of them. Damn every man, woman, and child in all of Thedas. How did he come to this? How did he go from the slave of a magister to the slave of a Tranquil? 

“You are troubled,” Hawke observed.

“Shut up,” he growled. “Just. Shut. Up.”

"Very well," she said. And she was silent.


	5. Poison

_Bloomingtide 17th, 9:30 Dragon_

_I haven't eaten for, oh, three days now._

_There just isn't enough coin. Indentured servitude doesn't do much for filling one's coin purse. There's only enough coin for two to eat, so Carver and I have been doing without. We're trying to keep Mother from catching on by telling her we ate with Athenril's men at the Hanged Man. Gamlen knows, but I highly doubt he'll be volunteering to take our place any time soon._

_All of this, of course, is somehow my fault in Carver's eyes. It seems as though every time I take a step he's there to tell me what I'm doing is wrong. He didn't used to be like this. We were closer before...everything. Some days it's very difficult to deal with him. And Gamlen. And Mother. And Athenril. And literally everyone else in this damn city. I want my old life back. It's childish, and I'd never say it aloud, but I just wish I could reverse time. I want Father back, and Bethany. I want Carver to stop acting like he hates me. I want Mother to stop staring at me with those big sad eyes for reasons I don't even really understand._

_Moping doesn't do any good, I know. I've got three mouths to feed. But it feels good to get it down on paper. Maybe things will improve in the coming months. Our service to Athenril is only for a year; after that we'll be free to do whatever we want._

-

Orlais was being ripped apart at the seams.

The country was engulfed in a violent civil war. Fenris thought he'd seen everything in the fall of Kirkwall. He was wrong. It seemed no matter where they were, evidence of fighting was prevalent. They often had to hide from large platoons of chevaliers marching down the roads. Every two days or so they would see smoke rising over tree tops and hills, and occasionally stumble on burned villages or towns. More than once they witnessed fighting. Each time Fenris had them hide until it was over. 

The civil war, strangely enough, was still the least of their problems. A week after arriving in Orlais, the mages rebelled. Many were killed, but many still manage to scatter across the land. Fenris felt as though blood mages and abominations were around every bend in the road. He didn't let Hawke or Orana out of his sight, keeping them close at all times. 

How they were supposed to find Wynne in this mess was beyond him completely. After four weeks, he began to doubt they ever would.

Fenris sat down beside the fire and uncorked a bottle of wine. It had been lying unattended and unopened in a deserted village they had passed through. He decided to take advantage. Orana glanced over at him, quietly disapproving. He was their only source of protection; Orana was only just beginning to learn how to handle a dagger, and Hawke was powerless without her magic. Getting drunk in the middle of nowhere where anyone could find them wasn't the smartest idea. 

_Screw it_ , he thought, and took a long swig. It was cheap shit that was so heavily spiced it burned going down. The sort peasants used to get drunk fast after a long day's work. The fact it tasted awful didn't matter to him. He wanted to forget the past few weeks. He wanted to forget about skittish little Orana and emotionless Hawke. He wanted to forget about the nightmares that had plagued him since they left the Circle Tower of Hawke screaming, struggling, crying, begging to die rather than be made Tranquil.

As night fell around them, Orana retreated into the tent. Hawke remained outside, staring into the fire. Fenris kept on drinking.

When the bottle was empty, he stood up and tossed it into the trees. It shattered against something – a rock, an oak, who knows – and laughed.

“You're intoxicated,” Hawke observed quietly.

He looked towards her. The night they shared together suddenly came rushing back to him. He remembered the way he'd run his hands through her short dark hair, thinking it looked a bit like a raven's wing in the orange firelight. Her fingers had run down his arms and chest. She liked to trace his markings, somehow thinking of them as beautiful. Even the small details – the way she moaned, how her hips jerked beneath his, the feeling of her beath on his neck – came back to him now. 

Hawke was still staring at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Suddenly overcome with an odd sort of hunger, Fenris rushed over to her. She got to her feet, and he grabbed her. 

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

She obeyed. 

At first, it sent a thrill through him. Somehow, Hawke was still in there. She was still in there and she still loved him. This was proof of it. Then he realized that the kiss wasn't much of a kiss; her lips were simply pressed against his. There was no desire, no longing. No passion. Fenris put his hands on her shoulders and pulled away.

“...you only kissed me because I told you to,” he realized. 

“Yes,” Hawke said.

“Not because you wanted to.” 

“I want for little.”

Fenris snarled, turning his back on her. He should have known. He should have fucking known. It was hopeless. Pointless. Isabela had been right; there was no point in chasing Hawke's shadow. She was gone. Really, truly gone. There was no way to find Wynne in this chaotic mess of a country, not without something short of a miracle. And even then, who was to say she could cure Hawke? That she'd be willing to? 

“You are troubled,” Hawke said. “Perhaps-”

“SHUT UP!” he yelled, whirling on her. There wasn't a hint of surprise on her face. Of course not. She couldn't be startled, or scared. Or anything else. Because she was hollow, empty. He might as well be talking to a doll. It looked like Hawke, talked like her, but this wasn't her.

This wasn't the Marian he fell in love with. That girl was dead.

“Not another word,” he growled. “Until I can find a way to rid myself of you, you won't say another word. Understand?”

Hawke nodded. She did not speak.

*

The next morning, Fenris was hungover and sick to his stomach. Orana had prepared a meager breakfast from what was left of their rations. The girl could do wonders with nothing but a low-burning campfire and a bit of stale bread. But when she handed him some food, Fenris refused.

“You need to eat,” she insisted gently. 

“I feel sick,” he said, waving it away. “Give it to _her_.”

Orana looked towards Hawke and smiled gently. “Mistress, would you like some more?”

Hawke shook her head.

Sighing, the elf girl sat down. She gave up and ate Fenris's share herself. They watched in silence as the fire finally died into a mound of red embers. Somewhere a bird started singing. Fenris winced at the noise. His head ached. Every small sound seemed to be amplified tenfold. He could hear a deer tramping through the brush, and it sounded as though a whole herd was crashing towards them-

“Do you hear that?” Orana whispered, freezing like a rabbit that has just sensed a fox.

As soon as she spoke, the first of the bandits broke through the trees. 

Orana screamed. Fenris scrambled for his sword. It was lying several feet away, beside the tent. He made a dive for it. An arrow whizzed through the air where his head had been just moments before. Hefting his sword up, he swung at the bandit that had appeared first. The man rolled to the side, brandishing a blade in each hand. 

The archer who had fired at him turned her attention to Orana. She was small but quick, and hit the dirt just before the arrow flew towards her chest. More bandits rushed into the campsite. Steeling herself, Orana got up and ran at the closest one. Within seconds her dagger was buried deep in their stomach. When she pulled away, he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. It was only then did she realize what she'd done. Orana stared at the bloody knife in shock, alarmed by her own actions. Fenris swung at another bandit, managing to make a deep cut across his chest.

“Don't hesitate, Orana!” he shouted. “They won't!”

As if on cue another bandit rushed her, this time from behind. He raised his sword above his head. Orana turned just in time and jumped back. He swung at her again, and she dodged to the side. The dagger shook in her hands. She was afraid to strike again.

Fenris snarled as an arrow nicked his arm, leaving a deep gash. In retaliation he grabbed the nearest bandit and shoved his hand into the man's chest. As the man fell to the ground in agony, the bandits froze in shock. For a moment it seemed as though they might retreat. Then another rogue let out an infuriated scream and ran at him, her daggers drawn. He managed to avoid her first strike, but not the second. The blade cut into his side and began to burn.

 _Poison_ , he thought. But there was no time to dwell on that. They were still outnumbered. Orana was playing a cat and mouse game with her attacker, dodging and moved but never striking. Hawke-

He froze. Where was Hawke?

“STOP!” someone yelled. 

His head whipped around. The archer had Hawke, a dagger pressed against her throat. “Lay down your weapons, or I cut her throat.”

Orana dropped her dagger immediately. Her attacker grabbed her arm and threw her roughly to the ground with a triumphant smirk. Fenris hesitated, then slowly set down his sword. The rogue who had cut him with the poisoned blade grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. If he wanted to break the hold, he'd have to break his arm in the process.

“Very good,” the archer said. “There's no reason why we can't settle this like civilized folk, hm?” She gestured to the other bandits. They began to ransack the camp, combing through their belongings for anything of value. Within minutes everything they owned as laid out before them on the ground. Fenris's coin purse – which carried all of their carefully rationed gold – was emptied on to the dirt so its contents could be counted. Hawke's doll and journal were also discovered, but cast aside as useless. Their weapons were quickly confiscated; several of them seemed very impressed by Fenris's enchanted sword. It had been given to him by Hawke, and he had been hesitant to use it at first. But over the past three years it had served him well.

“Is this all you have?” the archer asked. She still held Hawke at knife point. Before, Fenris hadn't wanted to look at Hawke. Now he just wanted to protect her. 

“Yes,” he said. “Now let her go.”

The archer looked at Hawke, appraising her as she would a new horse. She brushed the hair back from her forehead, and smiled slightly at the sight of the Mark of Tranquility. “What an odd little group...what's a Tranquil doing running around with a couple of knife-ears?”

“Let. Her. Go,” Fenris said through gritted teeth.

“We'll take her with the rest,” the archer said, addressing her bandits. “She'll make an excellent slave; we can sell her to the Tevinters.”

“DON'T YOU DARE!” Fenris snarled. The rogue holding his arm twisted it again, sending a painful jolt all the way up into his shoulder. “TAKE THE GOLD, LET HER GO!”

“You can go with her, if you like,” the archer taunted. She paused, then smiled. “Yes, that works well. We'll sell these three to Tevinter. They're always looking to buy knife-ears.”

Fenris thought of Danarius, of his gloating face when he arrived back in Tevinter in shackles. He'd sooner die. With a feral snarl, he kicked back at the rogue holding his arm. His foot collided with her knee, and did nothing except make his captor angry. Her free arm wrapped around Fenris's throat. He started to choke, and the world around him started to grow dim-

There was a sound like thunder, and suddenly his captor let go. She fell to the ground. Fenris doubled over, clutching his throat and gasping.

Someone in full armor ran past him, brandishing a sword. Another lightning bolt arched forward, followed by another clap of thunder. The rogue looming over Orana was struck dead. She used the opportunity to clamor to her feet and rush the archer. The woman tried to use Hawke as a shield, but Orana was too quick for her. She danced to the side-

“NO!” Fenris shouted. She still had Hawke. _The archer still had Hawke_ -

Orana buried her dagger in the woman's side. She screamed and cut Hawke's throat in retaliation. When she relinquished her grip on her, she fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. The archer then turned to attack Orana, who just barely managed to avoid having her own throat slit.

Without thinking, Fenris charged at the archer. He shoved his fist through her back, relishing her scream of agony. There was another crack of thunder, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the remaining bandits go down. He pulled away from the archer, allowing her to drop to the ground just as she had let Hawke.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Orana said, “I'm so sorry. I didn't think- I didn't-”

Fenris ignored her and knelt beside Hawke. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't. After all she had been through, after all she had endured, she couldn't die now. He rolled her over on to her back. “No... _NO_! Wake up- you have to wake up!”

Someone set a hand on his shoulder, and he smacked them away. “I'm a healer; I might be able to help her.”

He looked up. A mage was standing over him. He was a handsome man of perhaps forty years of age. His hair was dark with silver streaks, and he had warm brown eyes. In his right hand he held a staff. In any other scenario, Fenris would have been immediately distrustful. Instead, he yanked the man to his knees beside Hawke.

“Heal her,” he growled.

The man leaned forward, inspecting Hawke closely. Her chest was rising and falling, just barely moving. “The cut was not too deep. She's still breathing. There's still time.”

He set a hand over the cut on her neck. His palm glowed, and Fenris watched as the cut slowly began to close. He had seen this magic several times before. Anders had performed it frequently, and in later years he taught Hawke to use the same sort of healing magic. When he was finished, the mage pulled his hand away. The cut was still visible, but it was now shallow and barely bleeding. No longer potentially fatal. 

Hawke's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Fenris blankly, and he had never been so happy to have her stare at him with those unfeeling eyes. Only then did he realize how dizzy he felt. He'd been so concerned with Hawke, he'd forgotten his own injuries.

 _Poison_ , he thought again as his head hit the ground.


	6. The Cure

_Solace 17th, 9:31 Dragon_

_In my travels I’ve found that you meet the best people in the strangest places at the strangest of times. In the past few months I have met a surface dwarf, a captain without a ship, a Dalish blood mage, an apostate who is possessed by the spirit of Justice, and an elven refugee from Tevinter. Oh, and Aveline is to become the Captain of the Guard. Quite the repertoire of friends I have, hm?_

_Though I have to admit I’m truly grateful for them. They’ve made living in Kirkwall bearable. Scraping through all these jobs to earn enough coin to pay Bartrand is almost fun when I bring them along. At least until Anders and Fenris start bickering._

-

When Fenris awoke, he was lying inside a tent. There was a small loaf of bread lying beside his bedroll, as well as a bowl of cold stew. Though he was starving, he was more interested in finding out where Hawke and Orana were. He crawled out of the tent and saw no one around but a woman in full Templar armor, who was busy adding wood to a low-burning fire. Fenris frowned. His sword was apparently missing, but he could handle her without one if need be.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The woman looked towards him. “Ah, you’re up finally.”

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“Evangeline de Brassard,” she answered. Her accent was distinctly Orlesian. “I’m glad you’re awake; we’ve been worried.”

“We?” Fenris said, glancing around.

“Rhys and I. And your friend Orana,” the woman said. “Did you eat your food? You’ve been out for three days now. You must be hungry.”

“Orana? Where is she? Where is Hawke?” Fenris ignored her question. 

“They’re both safe,” the woman assured him. “They went into the city to get supplies. They should be back soon. Now, go eat. Rhys didn’t go through all that trouble of curing you just to have you starve to death.”

Fenris glared at her, but decided to do as she said. He retreated back inside the tent and brought his food back out with him. The bread was stale and the soup was as frigid as the southern Ferelden winds, but he’d had worse in his time in Tevinter. The Templar went about her business. Once she was done adding wood to the fire, she began sharpening her sword.

As he ate, he deduced that she must have been the armored warrior he saw come to their aid during the scuffle with the bandits. A Templar and a mage…that was an odd sight these days. Once he was done eating, he glanced over at her again. “Why do you travel with a mage, even after the Circle’s destruction?”

Evangeline looked up and smiled slightly. “The same reason you’re traveling with a Tranquil.”

“That isn’t an answer,” he said.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” Evangeline said. “I’m sure you can relate.”

He thought of Hawke, and said nothing. 

“Your friends told us a very interesting story,” Evangeline continued. She looked down at her sword as she dragged a whetstone across the edge. Sparks flew. “I never expected to meet the fabled Champion of Kirkwall. Especially not wandering around in the Orlesian countryside. I wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t said so herself. Tranquil can’t lie, after all.”

Fenris suddenly remembered their encounter with the Templar in Ferelden. Hawke hadn’t lied, per say. Nothing that she said was a falsehood. But she’d purposefully misled him. “Tranquil are capable of more than you would think.”

Evangeline paused and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, they are. People underestimate them.”

The sound of footsteps nearing the camp drew both of their attention. They looked up as the mage, Rhys, approached. He was followed by Hawke and Orana who, to Fenris’s surprise, carried his sword on her back. Rhys smiled when he saw Fenris. “Good, you’re finally awake.”

Being around a strange mage made his skin crawl. It took him years to get used to Anders and Hawke, and he never grew comfortable around Merrill. But this man had saved his life, as well as Hawke’s. “I should thank you for your help. If not for you then all three of us would most likely be dead, or worse. I am in your debt.”

Rhys simply shrugged. “Might as well put my Circle training to use. How do you feel?”

“Fine,” he said. He glanced towards Hawke and Orana. They both looked unharmed, save for an ugly red mark across Hawke’s throat. What was left of the cut had already healed up, leaving behind an angry scar. Seeing it reminded him of the horror he felt when he saw that knife slide across her throat, when he saw all of that blood…how could he have ever considered ridding himself of her? All Fenris wanted to do was he keep her safe. 

“Did you have any luck?” Evangeline asked, getting to her feet.

Rhys nodded, handing a bag to her. “That should be enough for the ritual. And there should be a bit leftover.”

Evangeline’s eyes flashed in a way Fenris didn’t fully comprehend, but he let that pass for the moment. He was more concerned with the ritual. “What do you mean? What ritual?”

“He can cure Mistress!” Orana blurted out excitedly, as though she’d been waiting for three days to say those words.

Rhys winced slightly. “I said I can try. Pharamond never actually taught me the ritual, just theories.”

Fenris stared at the mage in shock. “What do you mean? I was told only Wynne knew this cure.”

“Wynne was my mother,” Rhys said. It was easy to tell from his tone that the hero of the Blight was no more. He sat down, a troubled look on his face. “A friend of hers, a Tranquil known as Pharamond, was given an assignment from the Divine herself: attempt to cure his Tranquility. He managed it, but was possessed in the process. We went with her to help her save him.”

A fascinating tale, but it left Fenris with more questions than answers. He shoved them aside for the time being. All that mattered at the moment was Hawke and whether or not this man could cure her. “How is this cure done, then? Can you replicate it?”

“It’s…possible,” Rhys said hesitantly. “A Tranquil can be cured if their mind is touched by a strong spirit. The downside is they might get possessed immediately afterwards. And that’s not exactly ideal.”

Fenris swallowed. He remembered going into the Fade with Hawke to help her save Feynriel from himself. She’d resisted the demons while he…shaking his head, he tried to banish that memory. Hawke was strong. She wouldn’t be possessed. And, if she did, they would fix it. There were ways, he knew. He’d go to the ends of the earth to get her back. If that meant exorcising a demon from her, so be it. 

“And how do we do that?” Fenris asked.

Evangeline set her sword aside. “Rhys is a spirit medium; he has an affinity for them, and can call them at will. He might be able to call forth a spirit powerful enough to reestablish her connection to the Fade.”

“What if this spirit is a demon?” Fenris frowned.

“That’s what the lyrium is for,” Rhys said, gesturing to the bottles of glowing blue liquid. “If we have to, we’ll go into the Fade.”

Evangeline looked at him in surprise. “Don’t we need to go where the Veil is thin to do that?”

“It’s thin here,” Rhys replied. He frowned, apparently troubled. “In fact, it’s been thin almost everywhere we’ve gone.”

“Is that normal?” Orana interjected.

“Nope.” Rhys grinned. “But whatever is causing it, it’s not something we can help. At least not at the moment.”

Fenris couldn’t believe it. After all this time searching and hoping, they’d found the solution. It had simply fallen into their laps in the form of this mysterious mage. Was it too good to be true? Was this mage lying? Why would he? Was he a blood mage? There were a million reasons why Fenris should take Hawke and Orana and walk away, but he couldn’t. This was the best chance they had. 

“When can we do the ritual?” Fenris asked.

“I can have everything prepared in a few hours.”

*

Magic always made his skin crawl. Fenris watched nervously as Rhys carefully prepared the ritual. There were mages, he knew, who could control their magic. Hawke had been among their number. He trusted her. But he had no idea what this Rhys was like. He had a Templar with him, yes, but that meant little in these chaotic times. Until he knew exactly what sort of mage this man was, he would be on edge. 

“You’re nervous,” Evangeline noted.

“Magic is powerful,” Fenris said. “And I don’t yet know how Rhys uses it.”

She offered him a small, reassuring smile. “Rhys isn’t a blood mage, I can tell you that. He has an affinity for spirits, but he’s never fallen to them.”

That brought him some comfort. “I suppose it just seems too good to be true. That in just a few hours she might be herself again.”

Evangeline looked hesitant. “About that. If Rhys is able to cure her…she might not be the same as you remember her.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Pharamond was very…emotional, after being returned to normal. He cried often, he laughed often. Having his emotions returned to him proved too much for him at times,” Evangeline explained. “It could be that she’s different, but we don’t know. She’ll be the second Tranquil to ever be cured of her state.”

That wasn’t so bad, he thought. So what if she was more emotional? She was still Hawke. “That’s a small price to pay.”

For a moment she simply looked at him, thinking. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

“I…” Fenris crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “It’s that obvious, then?”

The Templar chuckled. “A bit, yes.”

“She’s been a good friend to me,” Fenris said, glancing towards her. She was helping Rhys lay down some sort of enchanted circle on the ground. “Whenever I needed her help, she was there. I never had that before.”

“We’ve heard stories about the Champion,” Evangeline said thoughtfully. “Is it true she took an ogre down with one spell?”

Fenris almost smiled. It seemed Varric’s tall tales had gotten around. “Not one, no. Though I did see her take down a group of bandits with three, once.”

*

Night fell, and there was a strange energy in the air as they finished the last of the preparations. It didn’t sit right with Fenris. Something was going to go wrong. He could feel it. 

“Are you ready?” Evangeline asked, looking towards Rhys and Hawke. 

He nodded. “I am. Hawke?”

“Yes,” she said. 

Rhys looked towards Evangeline once more. “If the worst happens- if I can’t take us into the Fade-”

She silenced him with a kiss. “That won’t happen.”

He returned the kiss, and pulled away with a soft sigh. Without another word he took Hawke’s hand and led her into the binding circle. They were ready to begin.


	7. Marigold

_Justinian 14th, 9:31 Dragon_

_I keep dreaming of a demon. I’m almost certain it’s a demon, anyway. Every night for the past week or so I dream about Father. In the dream he comes to me and tells me he misses me. For some reason I always fall for the first bit. I hug him. Sometimes I cry. Then he tells me that everything can be like it was before; all I have to do is allow a friendly spirit to help me. That’s when I turn him away._

_It’s frightening to realize a demon has set its sights on me. It used to happen often when I was a child. They could sense that I was young and vulnerable, I think. But as I’ve grown older I’ve only heard their whispers in my dreams, felt them lurking just over the borders of my mind. In some ways I understand why people fear us. It’s very easy to become possessed. I think if they knew just how easy, they’d put us to the sword the second they discovered our talents._

-

Rhys set a hand on Hawke’s forehead, pressing his fingers against her Mark of Tranquility. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating. Hawke stared at him blankly.

All Fenris could do was wait. It seemed as though Rhys stood there forever, reaching through the Veil to find a benevolent spirit powerful enough to heal Hawke. This seemed to be taking a great deal of effort. His face was twisted in concentration. His mouth moved as though he were speaking to someone, but no words came forth. 

Suddenly it was as though Hawke had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her back stiffened, and her entire body went rigid. Her eyes widened, and she stared up at the night sky in shock. Then she collapsed, falling into a heap at Rhys’s feet. Fenris rushed forward to help her, but held him back. Rhys stepped backwards out of the binding circle. For a moment Fenris feared she might be dead, she was so still. 

Slowly, Hawke got to her feet. She stretched, she smiled. She laughed.

His blood turned cold. It had been some time since he heard Hawke’s laugh, but that wasn’t it.

“Ah, what a lovely body,” Hawke said, admiring herself. The voice that came out of her mouth wasn’t her own. “So fresh, so powerful.”

“Damn! It tricked me,” Rhys cursed, curling his hands into fists. “She disguised herself as a Spirit of Mercy. I didn’t even know they were capable of doing that…”

Hawke smiled at him wickedly. “I only made you see what you wanted to see. It’s so easy to manipulate the minds of mortals, to change what they sense. I’ve been wanting this mage for some time. Watching her, waiting for a moment of weakness. I thought it was a lost cause after those Templars severed her connection to the Fade…but then you offered her up on a silver platter. And now I’m free to do as I like.”

She tried to leave the binding circle, but was unable to step over it. Hawke hissed. Hearing such an inhuman sound coming from her mouth made Fenris’s skin crawl. “What sorcery is this?! You there, mage. I sense your desires. I can help you achieve them if you lift this circle for me.”

Rhys ignored her, going instead to the lyrium that was laid out. 

“What do you intend to do?” Hawke asked. She smiled. “Face me in the Fade, where my power is strongest?”

“Don’t listen to a word she says,” Evangeline growled. 

All Fenris could do was stare at her. She was so like Hawke, but so different. Her smile was cruel, not pleasant or playful. Her blue eyes gleamed with delight. This demon was practically gleeful to have been given such a fine host. Fenris’s hands curled into fists. This was an awful idea. He knew no good could come of this. Now Hawke was lost, and they would have to fight tooth and nail to get her back.

 _If_ they got her back.

“You,” Hawke said, snapping her eyes towards him. “You love this girl. I can sense how much you want her. You gave her up some time ago, didn’t you? Pushed her away out of fear and confusion. But you still look at her with those sad little puppy eyes, imagining what it’d be like to hold her again.”

How could this demon read him so easily? Fenris glared at her, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. Rhys began to work faster. 

“I can reunite the two of you,” she said, smiling. “She is cured. Very much so. Even now she fights against me with the fury of a dragon. You could be together again-”

“Don’t listen to her, Fenris!” Evangeline snapped, interrupting her.

For a moment, he was tempted. To have Hawke back was all he wanted. Forget killing Danarius, forget finding his sister halfway across Thedas. All he wanted was to have her back. But then he remembered the trip into the Fade to save Feynriel. The pride demon. The betrayal in her eyes. She’d refused the demons, she who was hunted by them all her life, while he had been too weak…

He would not make the same mistake twice.

“Cast your eyes elsewhere, demon,” he snapped.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rhys slam his staff down on the ground, and everything vanished in a flash of white light.

*

When the light faded, Fenris was standing in the middle of a dirt road. 

Everything around him had a sort of hazy feeling. All the things around him did not feel set in their shapes, as though they could change at any moment. He was in the Fade, and he was alone. Fenris moved down the road slowly. Where were the others? What was happening? The whole situation set his nerves on edge, and kept glancing around for demons. 

The road led towards a cottage. On one side of it there was an elaborate garden, full of various herbs and plants. On the other was a chicken coop. There was smoke coming up out of the chimney, and he could hear a dog barking somewhere.

The door opened suddenly, causing Fenris to reach for his sword. Hawke ran down the path towards him, wrapping her arms around him.

Without thinking he embraced her, clutching her as though he’d never let her go. His fingers gripped the back of her dress. He pressed his face into her neck and inhaled her scent. When she pulled away, he was reluctant to let go.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, smiling. Maker, she looked like herself again! Her blue eyes looked at him with affection, and her smile was genuine. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

It was only then that Fenris remembered where he was. This might not even be Hawke at all; this might be a demon trying to trick him. But before he could protest, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the cottage. Inside it was small, but comfortable. There was a table full of food near the doorway, with places set for six. Over towards the end of the room a woman was stirring a pot of stew over the fire. 

“Mother, Fenris is home,” Hawke said.

The woman turned around, and Fenris found himself staring at the deceased Leandra. She smiled and wiped her hands on her apron. “Thank goodness; my poor girl was going mad with worry.”

“Leandra?” he said, confused. What sort of dream was this?

“Go on, sit down,” she said, gesturing to the table. “I’m almost done. Marian, be a dear and get your father. I think he and your brother are outside with the dog again.”

“And Bethany?” she asked.

“Out by the chicken coop, gathering eggs. Tell her to wash up before she comes in,” Leandra replied.

Fenris sat at the table, thoroughly confused. What was going on here? Was he in Lothering? He glanced around. Was this cozy little abode where Hawke had lived before the Blight? If this wasn’t his dream…was it hers?

Moments later Hawke returned with the rest of her family in tow. Fenris had never seen her sister or her father before, and he was struck by how alike they looked. He’d always thought that Hawke favored her mother in terms of appearance. Now, however, he realized she was definitely her father’s daughter. Their eyes were the same. Their smiles were the same. They even had the same black hair. Hawke and her sister walked arm-in-arm, talking and laughing. Their family’s hound bounded in after Carver, barking and nipping at his heels playfully.

As the family seated themselves at the table, he became certain that this was no dream of his.

This was what Hawke had always wanted. Her family, together. And he with them. 

“So, Fenris, how was your journey?” Hawke’s father – Malcolm, he believed – asked, smiling amiably at him.

He didn’t answer. Instead he turned his attention to Hawke, who sat at his side. She reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. His skin reacted to her touch, sending a small thrill up his hand through his wrist. Yes, this was definitely Hawke. No demon could ever imitate her caress. “Hawke, what is going on?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“He’s probably delirious from hunger,” Carver joked. “I certainly am.”

“I swear, you and your sisters have the appetite of a Mabari,” Leandra said, carrying over the stew over and setting it on the table. 

The actual Mabari in the room barked. He wormed his way under the table, perhaps in hopes of catching any scraps that were dropped. It was all so…right. So happy. So peaceful. Fenris almost felt guilty tearing Hawke away from this dream.

“Carver and Marian, you mean,” Bethany said, winking at her sister. “She acts like she’s eating for _two_ lately.”

Hawke grinned and smacked her sister lightly on the shoulder. “Hush!”

“Hawke,” Fenris persisted. “Something isn’t right.”

“What’s troubling you?” Malcolm asked. He smiled at him. The man was the picture of patience and kindness. “If you’re worried about our marigold, we’ve taken good care of her while you’ve been away.”

Marigold. Fenris had heard Leandra call Hawke that before. It was always said in hushed tones, when her daughter returned home injured or exhausted. Had her father coined that nickname? Ignoring him, he squeezed Hawke’s hand. “Hawke, this isn’t right. Your father’s been dead for years- as has your sister.”

“I don’t feel dead,” Bethany remarked, looking towards her father.

“Think about it,” he said. “When did I meet your father?”

Hawke stared at him, confused. “I- you remember don’t you?”

“Do you?” Fenris frowned, raising his eyebrows.

“I- no, no I don’t. I remember- I remember he was ill. Very ill. I hardly slept for a week. I…how did you get well?” Hawke looked towards her father helplessly. 

Malcolm smiled again. “Through your hard work, marigold; you slaved making potions and medicines, and nursed me through it. Don’t you remember?”

“No- no I don’t,” she said with more certainty. “You…you weren’t there during the Blight. You were dead.”

“Nonsense, child-” Once again, he tried to placate her.

Hawke got to her feet, backing away from the table. “And- Bethany, you were killed by an ogre! I saw it reaching down and- and mother! That blood mage in Kirkwall…and Carver’s with the Templars. And we haven’t been back to this cottage in years! This isn’t real!”

“Foolish girl!” Malcolm yelled, slamming his hands down on the table. Fenris got to his feet and stood at Hawke’s side. “You spit on the peace I offer! If you are not content with a dream, have your nightmare!”

Suddenly the environment around them changed. The cottage was gone, replaced by a Blight-stricken landscape. The family morphed into wretched darkspawn-like creatures and charged at them. 

Hawke pushed Fenris back and called down a fire storm upon them. Great balls of flame struck at the horrid creatures, knocking them to the ground and searing their flesh. Malcolm roared. He began to grow and grow, taking on the form of a giant ogre. Fenris drew his sword and rushed forward, slicing at the creature’s legs. It roared again and swatted him away, sending him flying back.

The pain he felt was very real, there was no mistaking that. He gripped his side, hissing. 

“Fenris!” Hawke yelled. Her staff seemed to appear from nowhere, and was enveloped in a blue glow. He felt the healing magic work upon him. For a moment his markings did not ache, nor did he feel the pain in his side. 

As he got back to his feet, she sent a fire ball flying at the ogre. It struck the beast’s chest, eliciting a pained roar. As it fell on to its back, she turned on Fenris and pointed her staff at him.

“Are you a dream too?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

He shook his head slowly. “Are you?”

Hawke shook her head, slowly lowering her staff. “So neither of us are dreams, then. Good…good.”


	8. Night Terrors

For a moment they simply stood there, face to face, not knowing what to do or say. It felt like it had been an eternity since he’d seen her this way. Wholly herself. Not emotionless, not living in a dream. Just…Hawke. And to meet her within the Fade of all places.

“I…you’ve been possessed,” he said, for lack of anything else. 

“I realized,” Hawke said, glancing around. “I tried to fight her off but I was still reeling from…everything.”

She turned and began to walk down the ruined road. He fell into step beside her. “So you’re truly healed then?”

“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here. The Tranquil can’t reach the Fade. They can’t even dream,” she said quietly. “When the demon touched my mind…she reestablished my connection. It was like the sun suddenly appearing in the night sky. It was blinding, overwhelming. By the time I sensed what she was, it was too late to fight her.”

Fenris looked away. “I…apologize. If there had been another way-”

“Let’s not discuss this now,” she said quickly. “Not here.”

He nodded once. The environment around them began to change. It morphed from a Blight-stricken landscape to a grand city in chaos. Mansions burned, carts lay overturned on the street. A great white tower was crumbling. 

“Whose dream is this?” Hawke asked quietly, looking around. “This isn’t Kirkwall-”

Moments later Rhys and Evangeline rounded the corner, with Orana trailing just behind them. 

“One of theirs, I’m guessing,” Fenris said.

Evangeline held out her arm to stop Rhys and Orana, then pointed her sword at Fenris and Hawke. “Is that really them, Rhys?”

He nodded. “They aren’t spirits.”

The Templar lowered her sword and nodded once. She glanced around at their surroundings, regarding them with a trace of sadness. “The demon is lurking here somewhere. We need to find her and end this. We won’t be able to leave the Fade otherwise.”

“What?” Orana squeaked, looking around nervously. “You mean…we’re trapped?”

“For the moment,” Rhys answered. He paused, looking around. Then, suddenly, he took off towards the crumbling white tower. “This way!”

Fenris had little choice but to follow. The whole situation set him on edge. Up above the sky was an eerie green color. Random pieces of debris and small islands seemed to be floating far above them. And off, in the distance, he could see a distant city. It sent a chill down his spine; if that place was what he thought it was, he shuddered to think of what monstrosities lurked there.

As they hurried through the burning city, he began to notice a strange change. 

The area was slowly morphing from an Orlesian city in ruins to a very familiar, very much in-tact Tevinter one. As they moved into the city square – a bustling, loud, dangerous place in reality – he began to notice the unsettling quiet. The vendors’ carts were full but unattended. Shops were open, but no one seemed to be inside. The place was void of all life and sound. He tightened his grip on his sword. 

Near the fountain – a glorious monument to the Tevinter mages – the demon materialized. She hovered over the waters, smirking. 

“Come now,” she said. “Don’t be shy.”

They moved closer, but they did so cautiously. This was her domain. 

“Well, which of you will face me?” she asked, smirking. “The spirit medium, perhaps? Or my host herself- congratulations, by the way. Not many mages are able to rebel against their demons the way you have.”

Hawke frowned. “I don’t take kindly to being possessed.”

“No, no you don’t,” the demon chuckled. “Nor do you take kindly to being made Tranquil. Such a nasty experience, that. And so cruel. I took a glance at your memories…I know you still feel angry. You want revenge. It’s very understandable. You asked for mercy and the Knight-Commander laughed. She no longer lives…but others do. You could prevent the same from happening to them.”

“What good is revenge?” Hawke said. Her voice broke. “What they took from me, I can never get back.”

She fired a blast of ice at the demon. Hissing, it flew at them. But Evangeline stepped in its path. A sudden change seemed to envelope her. Suddenly her body seemed to take on a different shape: tall, powerful, elegant. Her eyes glowed with blue fire. She reached out and grasped the demon by her neck.

“You hold no power over them!” she cried, though her voice was not her own.

As she crushed the demon’s neck within her hand, the world around them disappeared.

Fenris awoke with a jolt. He was lying on the ground, not far from Orana and Evangeline. Slowly they all began to stir, sitting up and regaining their senses. He cast his eyes towards the binding circle. Hawke still lay crumpled within, unmoving. For a moment he didn’t even dare to breathe.

Then, slowly, she began to awaken. She got to her feet, then stepped slowly over the binding circle. 

None of them spoke at first. They simply stared at her. She stared back at them. Then, she fell to her knees. She wrapped her arms around herself and began to sob. Fenris rushed to her side and knelt beside her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked urgently. “Why are you crying?”

Hawke looked at him. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she smiled. “Because I can…I can cry again. I can cry again…”

*

After leaving the Fade, they all agreed to wait to discuss what had happened. They were exhausted. They each retired to their tents and all was quiet. Fenris laid awake, listening to the sounds of the night. Owls hooted, and leaves rustled in the wind. But the only thing he could think about was Hawke. What would they do now? He had vowed to see her cured. And she was. But Kirkwall was gone. Her estate was likely in shambles, ripped apart by looters. War between mages and Templars was spreading like an uncontrolled wildfire. 

And there was still the matter of Danarius. Fenris had thought little of him after all that had happened. But how long would it take him to begin the hunt anew? With half of Thedas enveloped in war, some of his most hideous crimes could go unpunished even outside of Tevinter. And there was the matter of his sister, still somewhere in Minrathous, waiting for a letter that hadn’t been sent- 

“Fenris?”

Hawke’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He sat up slightly. She peeked inside. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to wake Orana.”

He shifted to the side to make room for her on his bedroll. She crawled in and laid down beside him. It felt so strange. How long had he dreamed of a moment like this? And now she was here, wholly herself once more, stretched out beside him. Fenris felt as though he were still trapped within the desire demon’s dream. 

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked quietly.

“Nightmares,” she whispered, resting her head on her arm. “It’s like I’m a child again. Every demon in the Fade is coming after me. They know I’m weakened.”

Fenris almost smiled. “You didn’t seem weakened within the Fade.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, sighing. “I keep dreaming that I’m in the Gallows again. That the Templars are closing in…and I can hear the demons. Calling to me, telling me they’ll help. I would rather die than be Tranquil again. I would rather- I’d-”

He frowned and pulled her close. That seemed to silence her. She pressed her face into his neck and held on to him tightly, as if he was the only thing keeping her from slipping away from the world. Fenris said nothing. Hearing her talk like this alarmed him deeply. Hawke had always been the pinnacle of strength, the example for all other mages to aspire to. But even she, it seemed, could be tempted. 

“They took away my strength, Fenris,” she whispered against his skin. “They took away my resolve.”

“They will not have you,” he growled. He wasn’t sure if he meant the Templars or the demons, nor did he care. No one, spirit or mortal, was taking her away from him again. Even if he had to protect her from all the demons in the world and the entirety of the Templar Order, he would do it. “I won’t allow it.”

“You can’t protect me from everything,” Hawke said, slowly pulling away. He allowed her to go, reluctantly. 

“No, but I can do my best,” he replied.

She smiled slightly at that. “I suppose I should thank you. For all you did. If not for you I’d probably be dead. Or worse.”

Fenris looked away. Thinking back on all he had done, all he had said, he didn’t feel he deserved her thanks. He’d yelled at her, resented her, didn’t even want to look at her. How could she thank him after all that? “Rhys deserves your thanks, not I.”

“You both do,” she insisted. “You didn’t give up on me.”

“I almost did,” Fenris said, frowning. “I resolved to protect you, and I was prepared to cast you aside. Just like all the others.”

Hawke reached out and grabbed his hand. Her magic reacted with the lyrium in his skin. The small shock that went up his arm almost surprised him. “But you didn’t. Learn to accept a bit of thanks, Fenris.”

“You’re welcome then,” he said. He smiled slightly. “You should try to rest. I can’t imagine how difficult today must have been for you.”

She glanced away. “I’m not exactly keen on the idea of sleeping.”

“Try,” Fenris insisted. “If you have need of me, I will be here when you wake.”

Hawke smiled slightly. “Thank you, Fenris.”

He sat beside her in silence, and eventually she did fall asleep. Fenris stayed awake for some time. It all seemed so surreal, he could scarcely believe it. But what would they do now? Now that she was healed and their life in Kirkwall was effectively over? Would she want to seek out her brother? Would she want to return to Ferelden? There were a million questions on his mind, and none of them had any answers.

*

“I’m betting you have questions,” Rhys said the next morning as they emerged from Fenris’s tent. 

“Putting it lightly, yes,” Hawke said. She sat down near the fire by Orana, who smiled brightly at her newly healed mistress. “You’re possessed by a spirit, aren’t you Evangeline?”

Evangeline winced. “Possessed is too strong of a word.”

“Another Anders,” Fenris grumbled under his breath. 

“That’s a bit of a long story,” Rhys said. “My mother Wynne was a spirit medium, just as I am…do you know the tale of the Warden?”

What didn’t they know about the Warden was the better question. Varric was almost as fond of telling the story of the Hero of Ferelden as he was of talking about Hawke’s exploits. Fenris nodded once. “We’ve heard the story.”

“Well, you know she arrived to find the Circle of Magi in shambles,” he said. “Wynne was protecting the apprentices and younger mages when a demon attacked. She protected them, but at the cost of her life. She died. But…a Spirit of Faith took pity on her and restored her life. Then when the Circle fell here…Evangeline died.”

Evangeline looked down, suddenly focused on the embers burning within the fire.

“My mother transferred the spirit that had sustained her life to Evangeline. She died and…Evangeline woke up,” Rhys explained.

Fenris glanced at Evangeline and frowned. It was difficult to imagine a Templar as an abomination. But they’d seen stranger in Kirkwall. “We knew an apostate who harbored one of those ‘benevolent’ spirits. It drove him to unspeakable acts.”

“I am nothing like Anders, I assure you,” Evangeline said, frowning. “I don’t even feel the spirit. I thought it might have…left until we went into the Fade.” 

“Interesting,” Hawke said. “So this spirit sustained Wynne’s life, and now it sustains yours?”

Evangeline nodded once. “But otherwise I cannot sense its presence. Perhaps Wynne could when she still lived. But I cannot.”

“I’ve never heard of a spirit bringing someone back to life before,” Hawke said. “Inhabiting dead bodies, yes. But not restoring people to life.”

“We still don’t fully understand it,” she said. 

“I’m grateful for it, if nothing else.” Rhys looked towards her and smiled, then directed his attention to Fenris, Hawke, and Orana. “Now I have a question for you three. Where do you intend to go?” 

“I can’t speak for Fenris and Orana, but I have no idea. Whatever life I had in Kirkwall is over. I don’t dare go back,” Hawke said. Her voice cracked slightly, a sound that Fenris hadn’t heard since the death of her mother. She wiped away a couple of tears with the back of her hand. “Maker help me, why am I so emotional over this?” 

“Pharamond was the same way when he was cured,” Evangeline assured her. “But your case doesn’t seem to be as…extreme as his. He was Tranquil for many years, while you were Tranquil for several months. Perhaps that has something to do with it.”

Hawke nodded once. She wiped at her eyes again. “It’s harder to keep things below the surface now. I thought of losing my home once again and…well…”

“Someone once told me when you stop running, you start over,” Fenris suggested gently. “Perhaps you could do the same.”

She smiled slightly, then glanced at Orana. “What do you think Orana? Where should we go?”

The elven servant considered their options for a moment. “I liked the stories you told me about Ferelden. And I liked it when we were there. Maybe…we could go back?”

Hawke considered the idea for a moment. Then, she glanced at Fenris. “What do you think?”

“I will stay at your side, no matter your choice,” he promised. 

She smiled at him, and for the first time in months Fenris dared to hope that the future might bring something worthwhile.


	9. Rebuilding

_Drakonis 28th, 9:41 Dragon_

_A new journal at long last. Fenris found it in the market for me. He said the other one was getting too full to write in, and I think he’s right. The old journal is full of things from before. From Lothering, and from Kirkwall. It’s time for a fresh start._

_I wrote to Carver today. I cried twice while writing the letter, and Fenris ended up having to finish it for me. That upset me even more. I hate what I’ve become. I knock over a bucket while mopping, and I cry. Someone makes a strange face, and I laugh for hours. I feel like a child. I feel like I’m not put together right. Like a doll that had its arms ripped off and sewn back on wrong. It’s getting better, though. Little by little. The nightmares aren’t as bad now. Before my magic was…erratic, like I was young again. But I’m getting better at controlling it._

_Fenris has been a blessing, if a little bit overprotective. He knows I hate to be alone, so he’s never far from my side. When I cry for no reason he holds me, and when I can’t stop laughing he laughs too. When he does have to leave, Orana usually comes to visit. She’s very busy now since she’s started working for that dressmaker, but she loves dropping by. And she almost always has food when she does, bless her._

_I don’t know what the next few days will bring-_

Arms circled around Hawke’s waist, and she felt someone press a kiss to the back of her neck. She smiled faintly, setting down her quill. Her hands ran over Fenris’s. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re writing in your journal again,” he said.

She leaned back against him. “You bought it weeks ago. I thought I might as well make some use of it.”

It felt as though it had been a thousand years since she put ink to paper. Nothing seemed to work right after her Tranquility was reversed. Not her magic, not her mind, not her hands. There were a hundred things wrong with her. Broken was the word she liked to use. Smashed into little pieces by the Templars, then clumsily put back together by Rhys and Fenris and Evangeline and Orana. 

Things had been far from easy, but it wasn’t all bad. She found she had a renewed sense of wonder. Hawke viewed the world with what could almost be described as a child’s eyes. Each time she looked at something, it was as though she were truly seeing it for the first time. When spring came she would sit outside for hours, fascinated by the flowers and the green grass and the blossoming trees. Everything seemed bright and new. Even Fenris. She would stare at him often, noticing again and again how handsome he was. The lyrium tattoos on his skin practically dazzled her.

They still did, truth be told. She glanced down at his arms, running her fingers over the markings. “Do they hurt?”

“Hm?” Fenris realized what she meant seconds later. “They do.”

“All the time?” she asked, her voice cracking dangerously. Hawke fought to contain herself. It seemed as though anything could make her cry these days. Thinking of her family, burning a pot of stew, seeing a bird with a broken wing. Hearing Fenris was in pain also set it off, apparently. Wonderful. The list continued to grow. 

Fenris hesitated. “Not…all the time.”

“You’re lying,” Hawke accused. She pulled away from him, then turned around to look at him. “I remember, you told me once-”

He reached out again, gently grabbing her hands. “When you touch me- it is hard to explain. Your magic reacts with the lyrium.”

Hawke pulled her hands away. She was frightened – terrified really – of hurting him. Ever since she’d been ‘fixed’ her magic was unpredictable at best. The demons still came to her in her dreams. She was terrified that she would do something to hurt him. For the first time in her life Marian Hawke wasn’t in control of her magic, and the last thing she wanted was for Fenris to be caught in the cross-fire. 

But he was persistent, if nothing else. Fenris reached out once more and took her hands, firmly this time. He looked her in the eyes. “It is not painful, Hawke. It is…difficult to describe. But not unpleasant.”

The tears kept wanting to come all the same. Though now she wasn’t sure if they were happy tears, or confused tears. Or frustrated tears. That angered her the most; whenever she got frustrated over how emotional she was, Hawke would cry. And crying would make her more frustrated. It never seemed to end. 

Fenris reached up and brushed away a tear that managed to escape. An all-too familiar gesture nowadays. But Hawke leaned into his touch. A few more tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“I upset you,” Fenris said. His voice is remorseful, and angry. Not at her- at himself. That upset her, too.

“No!” Hawke insisted. She hurriedly wiped at the tears. “I’m just- it’s frustrating. Every little thing makes me so sad I want to cry for hours or so happy I want to do nothing but smile and laugh. I can’t control my own emotions. I can’t control my magic, or anything. I just- I want to be like I was.”

“You will,” he assured her. 

Hawke glanced away, staring at the floor of the little cottage they shared. It wasn’t unlike the homes she’d grown up in. They moved from place to place, renting or even building small homesteads away from the villages. It was what had drawn her to the place to begin with. Hawke had begun her life in places like this; perhaps she could rebuild it from here. 

“…what if I never do?” she asked quietly, her voice full of fear. “What if I’m never who I used to be?”

Without warning, Fenris kissed her. She practically melted. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she surrendered to him completely. Three long years she’d waited for him. Three years of wondering and hoping, and then those months of emptiness. She remembered being Tranquil- clear as day, actually. Hawke remembered looking at Fenris and feeling nothing. Just apathy. Even as he showed her he still cared, that he really did love her, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything. But that was over. Now she was here, whole but broken, and in his arms. 

Fenris broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers. “Even if you never fully recover, I will be here. At your side.”

“I’m not what I used to be,” she murmured. “You deserve better. You deserve-”

“I don’t _deserve_ anything, least of all you,” Fenris said firmly. “But I will not lose you again.”

Hawke let out a shaky sigh. She wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her face into his neck. For a time he simply held her. Then she murmured quietly against his skin: “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” he said. “Never doubt it.”

She smiled and pulled away. There were tears in her eyes again, happy ones. He smiled too, then glanced back towards her new journal. 

“Do you want to read it?” she asked. 

Fenris paused. She knew he’d read through her journal while she was Tranquil, but she didn’t mind. All of her friends had looked through it at some point, to be honest. The lewd drawings Isabela did and the ‘additions’ Varric wrote in the margins were proof enough of that. Even Merrill had gone through and doodled flowers in many of the pages. But Fenris reading it was different. He’d done it to hold on to a piece of her he thought he might have lost forever.

“I don’t mind,” she assured him.

“Read it to me,” he said finally.

She curled up beside him, her journal in her hands. It reminded her of the nights they used to spend together. Their reading lessons were some of Hawke’s favorite memories. Half the time Fenris ended up convincing her to read to him rather than the other way around. He picked books at random and asked her to read, and he’d listened attentively no matter the subject. At the time she’d just thought he was eager to avoid having to read aloud himself. Looking back on it, however, she realized that he did it just to hear her voice.

Hawke read to him, as she had before. He ran his hand along her arm, comforting her as her voice cracked. She managed to not cry, at least. Baby steps.

“ _I don’t know what the next few days will bring-_ oh, I still need to finish it,” Hawke realized. She reached over and grabbed her quill, quickly scribbling down the last few words. “There. _I don’t know what the next few days will bring, but if there is a future to be had, I will walk into gladly with Fenris at my side_.”

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, almost protectively. 

“Nothing will separate us,” he promised her. 

“Nothing,” she agreed.


End file.
